Good Boy
by CoffeehouseSpadille
Summary: Hatori gets word of potential family in Inner Mongolia, from his long-deceased mother's side, and decides to take a leap of faith over the summer. All seems well, and he cannot understand why his mother would not bring up her native family. But as the saying goes: the higher the fence, the bigger the secrets. Rated M, because certain acts/curses are not suited for T ratings. R&R!
1. Chapter 1 - Yakeshi City

**A/N:** Happy summer, y'all~ In light of the rebooted _Fruits Basket_ (not that it ever died!), I've decided to write a fun little story centering my years-long babe, Hatori, with some insight on his family history, connections, memories, and discoveries. Just some background before we get started so no one gets lost - unless you don't read this!

First thing's first:

\- This takes place _after _the end of the series, so Kyo and Tohru are an item  
\- The current residents of Hatori's household are (get ready): Kyo, Tohru, Momiji, Hiro, Kureno, and Kisa, and Hatori himself, of course. This was organized and set by me and my two supportive siblings - one loves Kyo, the other a rare Hiro fan - to have our number 1's together in the same environment. This togetherness resorted in probably one of the most unlikely of close bonds (Hatori to Kyo and Hiro) in the series, but we made it work. Point is, there was a lot of fighting, but they worked it out, obviously.  
\- Biologically, I made Hatori and Kureno (and Ritsu, but that's not really mentioned) _actually_ cousins, through Hatori's father's side  
\- You will notice some things that some characters do or say that might seem out-of-character; I personally believe in the Japanese approach that we all have at least 3 layers to which we present ourselves - an outer shell for strangers, a middle shell for friends and family, and an innermost shell for ourselves. You will see this in many of my stories because I do believe in the complexity of human beings and psychology. No one is one-dimensional, even if they are a minor character in the original series. Guess I like to twist the knife.  
\- There are references to past events that may seen unclear. That's intentional, until I finish my other stories

I believe that just about wraps things up for background. If you have any questions, feel free to ask! R&R, if you don't mind (respectfully, plz). It means a lot!

Please enjoy my story, and thank you for your time~ *exits*

...

_The Good Boy_

**Chapter One Yakeshi City**

It appeared to Hatori that he may have taken the wrong turn as he stumbled out of a quarry of still-wintry water and autumn leaves, the brown and orange crisps sticking to his yellow button-up shirt and black jeans, along with the few stripped stems thereof that stuck out of his hair like whiskers or antennae. "Nice going," he said to himself, plucking out the gunk and smoothing out his clothes and hair. "Real nice going." As much as he wished that Shigure or Kyo could have come with him, at this moment he was thankful no one saw his tumble. Today had been rough thus far, and the clock on his phone only recently hit 13:00. Since he had finished lunch with his family—the Sohma-Honda group that came along—he walked from the heart of Yakeshi, where forest trees ran along the rim of the small city and weathered concrete, not sharp asphalt, embroidered the roads. The outskirt town he had seen in passing was quaint and almost too close to Forks in the first _Twilight_ movie (which he had seen all of them, thanks to Kisa, Tohru, and Kagura, with only Kyo to share the suffering with). Folks were nice, quiet, but their staring never ceased. By summer influence, one could see in Hatori's warm undertone that he had Mongolian blood. As for his Chinese qualities… Well, hence the staring. None could entirely fathom his heritage aside from "ambiguous Asian." But Hatori did not mind as much; if he could endure the looks at home in Japan, where he _truly_ did not fit into the majority race, he could endure the looks here in the border-city of Inner Mongolia, where complements of both his halves were settled. When he was set in his resolve to simply feign ignorance, a clap of thunder startled him, a passing cloud of rain drenched him, and a lungs-worth of valley breeze frayed him. The air was still and the sky was calm after that, and then just as he had gotten his hair and damp clothes situated again, a quarry hidden by shading trees took him by surprise. He had never been so offended by nature.

Inspecting his now-half-drenched clothes, he sighed and flopped down on a toppled tree-corpse to rid his Converse and socks of murky water and God-knows-what-else. Scowling at the mess that was his appearance _again_ and cursing his routine misfortune that had plagued him since birth, he blew at his fringes in irritation that a single hour had completely ruined the outfit he tormented himself over the previous night at the bed-in-breakfast, much to Shigure's amusement, Kyo's annoyance, and Ayame's horror that one of his best friends lacked a common sense of style. Hatori's blatant nervousness, it seemed, leaked into his choice of attire—a dress shirt, but he allowed for a crisp pair of jeans and casual shoes.

"At least the shirt's summery…" Kisa had said while he was packing, a white flag of sorts.

Tohru agreed, "Hatori, I don't think I've ever seen that shirt on you! Yellow's got to be your color!"

A Mongol woman tapped his shoulder, startling him, and said something in flowing words. Hatori's face flushed as he stood in respect. "U-uh," he said, trying to remember the endless nights spent pouring over the mechanics of his mother's native language. "I…" he said in stuttering Mongolian. "I might be lost. I am looking for 293 Qing Road. The Nergüi family."

The woman nodded and, considering his cautious speech pattern, began explaining slowly where his destination would most likely sit, enunciating and pointing to the west. "After the large grassy area," she said, "look for the light purple horse mailbox. It's a one-of-a-kind possession of theirs."

"Okay," Hatori said, carefully, as he bowed to her, "thank you. Sorry to bother you."

"Not at all. Be mindful of the snakes." And then she left, adjusting the hiking backpack on her shoulders.

"Okay— Wait, what?" Hatori, now paranoid that any stick, dirt-wad, or pebble might be a venomous snake, proceeded as her directions foretold, repeating the order in his head to preserve it. "A light purple mailbox the shape of a horse, huh?" He scowled at his phone, which was safe from any moisture, thanks to his arm span. "Why does that _actually_ sound like something my family would do?" The Google Maps application, despite the faulty reception, steered him towards the main road, where an occasional sedan or pickup truck waltzed by, a few friendly greeters honking lightly at him. "Shit," he huffed after about five minutes. "Maybe I should have taken the next tree to the left… Or was it the third tree to the right?" Groaning, he turned his head to the sky above, skin sparkling against the summer sunlight, squinting against its rays. Cicadas rejoiced in rumbling screeches to their bellies' fullest, musical capacity, some taking flight with crystal-clear, dignified wings, soaring through the blazing heat as if the rays of the golden, daunting sunlight granted resounding strength. The embodiment of perseverance…was utterly interrupted by Hatori's yelp of terror and flailing arm upon one landing on him. "_Shit_!" For final measure, he swiped his hands down his body in a spastic manner to rid any other pellet-sized insect that may have sought refuge on him. He sighed, calming himself, practicing (as usual) for the eyes of others.

"You…" Hatori leapt a little from his clothes and jerked around to lock eyes with a tall, broad-shouldered man with sun-battered skin and eyes that held winter in the June heat. "That look in your eyes."

Hatori slowly frowned. "Uh. Sorry. Do I know you?"

The man who had towered over him by an easy ten inches suddenly snatched Hatori's shoulders and stared in his purple eyes. "You have her gaze. The way you just looked at me." In his breath was a violent coating of chewing tobacco which he, in his gawking and talking, would have spat in the Dragon's eye, had he not turned his head away.

Hatori politely, but firmly struggled himself free, unappreciative of the tight hold the physically dominant man had on his arms. "Hey," he said, frowning and crossing his arms across his body, "what's your problem?" If need be, he was ready to make a run for it. And he would make it this time.

The man curled his nose a bit in confusion, as if trying to fathom a supernatural event. Hatori slowly raised his eyebrows at him, waiting for an answer. "I'm sorry. You must think I'm crazy."

"That's putting it gently," Hatori said, breathlessly, recovering from just being man-handled by some sweaty guy in dire need of a hard lay or NyQuil. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry." Thankfully, this odd man spoke English. "You look like someone I knew. Someone I loved. My ex-girl."

"Right." Hatori averted his eyes for a moment. "I'll spare you my face, then, and leave."

"—Her name was Kara."

"Kara?"

"Yeah." The man stuck out his hand to Hatori. "I'm Turgen, by the way. You lost?"

"A little." Hatori frowned in thought, trying to pry without being too rude. "Sorry. Your Kara…she wouldn't happen to be Kara Nergüi, would she—"

"You know my Kara?!"

"Whoa. Uh," Hatori said, backing away slowly from the man. "Yes. She's my mom."

Turgen suddenly appeared nauseous, his thinning eyebrows drawing down. "Oh. How is she?" he asked, less excited. "Is she well?"

What he meant, Hatori knew, was if she was married. But just by spending no more than a minute with this Turgen, he could tell why his mother left him (he had deduced she would dump such a clingy, desperate man). "Well," he said. "Sorry to tell you she died when I was in elementary school. Undifferentiated pleomorphic sarcoma—" A tad embarrassed, Hatori averted his eyes to his shoes for a moment, forgetting that he was in a foreign country with a foreign, average person who, by the looks of his dirt-stained shoes and wrinkled shirt, knew nothing of medical terminology. "Cancer."

"Oh," Turgen's nausea-induced expression deepened, but he managed to compose himself. "Sorry, uh…?"

"'Uh'…? Uh, what?" Hatori asked, genuinely puzzled once again. A terrible habit of his since childhood. He caught notice of the man's outstretched hand. "Oh! Sorry!" Shaking the hand firmly, he replied, "Hatori."

"A pleasure, Hatori," Turgen smirked a little at the familiar air-headedness of this young man before him.

"Likewise." The Dragon shoved his hands in his still-drying pockets. "So, actually, I'm headed to the house now." He frowned a tad, breaking eye contact for a moment to revisit what exactly it was he just said and if it made sense. "Okay, that made it sound like we're headed the same way. No, um, sorry. I'm going to the house as in I'm trying to get to my mom's old house. I'm meeting her family— Well, _our_ family." Turgen raised his eyebrows slowly, trying to keep up to the rapid speed of this young man's talk. "Not our family as in you and me; I meant as in _my_ family." Hatori's face reddened and he turned around for a moment. "I've said too much again. Sorry."

Turgen chuckled a little. "It's quite all right. You ramble like Erden."

"I'm sorry?"

"Come on, I'll take you there."

"You shouldn't have to go out of your way to do that, but it's much appreciated." Hatori turned back to him, bowing in a mix of an apology and gratitude.

"Not at all. I deliver groceries for them sometimes. Nice folk," Turgen said, jerking his head in the direction adjacent to the Google path. "I was going to ask why you're wet, but then I saw the map on your phone and, well, that much is clear."

"I have family on my father's side out in the country, too, but I'm still a city boy."

"That much is obvious. It's all in the nervous, fast way you dart your eyes around." Turgen broke in teasing laughter, walking with his ex-lover's boy following. "So, you here alone?"

"_Here_, yeah," Hatori admitted. "But I do have my family waiting for me at the Longzhu Bed 'n Breakfast at the town's center. My great-aunt said it'd be best if I came alone for the first meeting, so…"

"Ah, Ms. Kana," Turgen said, smiling. "She was a rough one in her prime. A real scrapper. Beautiful."

Hatori chuckled. "I bet. She's still got it, though, in my opinion. We've met once."

"Oh, yeah. Of course." Turgen hopped over a small water-throbbing creek, easily, without even glancing down at it. "So, where you from?"

Hatori gingerly stepped over the same creek, eyes planted on the vein of racing crystal-clear liquid. "Uh, Tokyo-ish. One of the smaller neighboring cities."

"Tokyo, huh? Ain't that one of the more expensive places in the world?"

"Hah, yeah…"

"Well, see. That's why the country-life is the best life, boy! Ever consider moving on out here?"

"I haven't, actually. I'm still in the early stage of my career."

"I think you'd fit in nicely here."

"_Enkhtuya_…?!" Is that you?" In English with a Mongolian, pharyngeal echo in certain words, a feminine voice said this in the midst of a gasp.

Hatori almost swallowed his tongue, but he turned his attention to a tall, slender woman with long brown hair twisted in a thick braid over her shoulder. By her eyes' caramel and thin shape, he automatically rationalized her to be his mother's relative. "Yes? Hello."

The aging woman came closer, studying his face, his stature, and his mannerisms as if he were made of hand-carved mosaic. "It's really you, isn't it? My sister's told me all about you." She cupped his face, gawking at the familiarity in the placement of his eyes and nose. "Your eyes truly are beautiful. Your mother's favorite color was purple."

"Oh, really—"

"Oh, my goodness! You have your mother's glance."

For security reasons, Hatori pressed, "Your sister…?"

"Yes," the woman said. "Kana. She mentioned you a lot after she visited you in Japan." She pressed her hands together as if in prayer. "My grandson. You have Kara written all over you."

"Hi," Hatori said, slightly embarrassed that he had doubted her and bowing respectfully because of it. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Welcome home, darling."

"Thank you."

"I'm here, too." Turgen peeked around Hatori. "Good to see you, too, Naran."

Naran hummed through a smile. "Good day, Turgen. Did Batuhan send for you?"

"Not this time." The man sighed. "I was just walking when I saw your grandson wandering around like prey."

As they spoke, Hatori caught notice of a fading scar by his grandmother's hairline, neighboring her ear. Not by knife or broad syringe was it engraved on the peachy tint of her skin, but perhaps, he rationalized, by some other, not-so-sharp instrument dragged down her cheek. Squinting at it, he watched as she brushed loose hair behind an ear in her conversation with Turgen. The scar hinted otherwise, but she seemed too gentle, too amiable a person to sport any abrasion with subtle confidence. "Why don't we go back to the house and see who else is home?"

Hatori only then noticed Turgen's departure. "Sure. That would be lovely." So, on they went in a casual stroll, engaged in casual conversation—mostly Naran asking her grandson about his life thus far and what pleasures he indulged in when work permitted. Passing foreign trees and rushing creeks and the very quarry he had tripped into, they came to a comfortable, two-story house with trees here, a pond there, and a curling driveway made of tan stones. It was remarkably smaller than any Sohma property, but having visited his paternal family back in Japan's countryside, culture shock, or something closely related to it, was merely a dull buzz. "Oh, uh," Hatori said, handing her the red-and-gold-wrapped present bag that he had been carrying under his arm (that had _also_ survived his flurry of misevents throughout the day). He, as subtly as possible, dusted off the top in case dirt tainted the color. "I thought you might like this. It's from home. I apologize for not doing this sooner—I'm a little scatter-brained today."

Naran smiled, but clapped her hands together. "You shouldn't have, darling. And those brands are so expensive…!"

"I insist." Hatori returned with a softer smile.

Gingerly, his grandmother received the gift and nodded in gratitude. "Thank you. You're so sweet."

"It's the least I can do." When she came closer, Hatori inched back, assuming she was going to attempt to embrace him. But rather, she moved his bangs and kissed his forehead. He tossed and re-tossed the thought of telling the family about his Zodiac. The only reason he had not before was… Well, he was not expecting to be hugged within minutes of meeting them all.

Naran moved her hand to his shoulder and dipped her chin to him, giving a meaningful gaze. "I know, Enkhtuya." She set the gift on the crystal-like table stand by the corner of the verandah and looked out to the forest view, at the willows by the pond. "Do you know what your name means?"

"Sorry?" Hatori said, uneased by the trees—thoughts of Green Willow intruded his mind, immediately, but he rendered such superstitions to be inappropriate while his grandmother spoke. "Forgive my wandering mind." He bowed immensely, a common reoccurrence in his life thus far.

"Nothing to apologize for," Naran said, simply. She gently took his arm in her hands to raise him. "You've had a long day. I just asked if you knew what your name meant."

Hatori listened to her well this time, figuring she was asking about his middle, Mongolian name. "I can't say I do."

"Kara never told you?" He shook his head. "A ray of peace. Harmoniousness light. Glimmering tranquility."

"Wow. I…had no idea."

"It's fitting, isn't it? That you came to us after all these hard years." The Dragon watched her, worriedly. "We've missed your mother. Erden, too. But yet, here you are, Enkhtuya." She clasped her hands around his. "You just came here, but you brought hope with you. I couldn't be happier."

Hatori, though taken further aback by such immediate close contact, cleared his face of the obvious eeriness that weighed down his stomach like stones in the pit. "The feeling's mutual. I'm honored to be here." And he was, truthfully. But his mind was discontented whereas his heart was enthralled. "That's a lovely mailbox," he complimented, nodding towards the lavender that shone almost white in the sunlight. "Did you make it?"

"Your mother did. She was eight. Come see." Naran let go of his hand and led him towards the purple horse across the land, where cobblestones laid out the curving driveway. "She had skillful hands when it came to art. Wanted to go to college for it, but… Well, she left when she turned 18."

Hatori made a _huh_ sound, never suspecting his mother would be one to up and leave one day, and growing evermore confused as to why; but also, never having guessed she would have been one to paint or craft anything. As far as he was concerned, Kara only enjoyed reading and taking walks in nature. Never had he seen a single paint can or chisel around the house. He scanned the surrounding area to see an explosion of yellow and brown behind the house, beside the blue pond in the back. "Oh," he said. "Sunflowers."

"You like them? They're awfully bright."

"Yeah, they're lovely. Actually, they're my favorite."

"I had a feeling." Hatori looked at her for a moment. Naran chuckled humorously. "Maybe your grandma's psychic." He laughed and disregarded any suspicion, assuming his mother enjoyed them, too, in her youth. "I should get back to cooking now. Be a dear and see if your grandfather needs anything in the back."

"Of course," Hatori agreed, watching his grandmother go back to the house, plucking up the gift and disappearing behind the sunset-stained glass door. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Hatori rubbed the back of his head and looked up at the flame-glowing sky, complemented by wind-skating fireflies that made the stars seem palpable.

##

A flurry of dishes decorated with sautéed leeks, buckwheat noodles, chicken-stuffed wheat pancakes, and deep-fried cicadas was presented from the quaint, tan undertone kitchen…and, of course, the cicadas were placed right in front of Hatori. Until he glanced at his late grandmother's amused face, he failed to realize the distortion of his face. "U-uh," he stammered, relaxing his expression, "it looks…delicious."

Kana tapped his wrist, whispering in careful English, "Red meat," she said, pointing at the insects, then at the noodles and pancakes, "wheat," then the leeks and mustards, "vegetables. Traditional Mongolian and Chinese food."

"Yeah, no," Hatori stammered a second time, cheeks pinched pink when he noticed everyone staring and smiling at him. "It looks really good. Thank you."

"He's scared of the bugs," commented Yisu, giggling to her aunt, who nudged her and then said softly to Hatori:

"They're good, these cicadas. All female, so there's more meat than legs!"

"Eeeegh… I mean, _ah_! Looks good." When the bowl was handed to him, after his grandmother, grandfather, aunt, and great-aunt took their servings, he received it with his right hand, which he had marked with dirt as a reminder, that was supported at the elbow with his left palm—the way his research on Mongolian dining etiquette entailed. It was awkwardly done, seeing that the bowl came from his left, but he managed. Batuhan cleared his throat, Naran chuckled, and Yisu nearly snorked her salted tea, to which Kana pinched her arm and leveled a glare. Hatori's face flushed completely. "Sorry. Was that wrong?"

"No, son," Batuhan said with a smile. "Traditionally, yes, we would receive dishware that way. But you're family. This is simply a family dinner."

Naran added, "We are pleased to see you've considered our culture this much. But yes, please relax. Just eat."

"Yes, ma'am." Hatori moved some of the saucy cicadas to his plate, trying not to stare at the shriveled-up legs and antennae.

"Call me Emee. Proper Mongolian way of saying 'grandma.'"

"Yes, Emee."

Naran smiled widely, hearing that, impressed by the politeness and obedience instilled in the young man before her. "So, Enkhtuya," his grandmother said. "Such a beautiful name."

"Feminine, but yes," said his grandfather, sipping his tea.

Hatori nervously laughed, dropping his hands to his lap. "Yeah. Mom had a sense of humor, that's for sure. And actually, that's my middle name."

"What's your first name?"

"Hatori."

Naran gasped as she attempted a bite of her pancake. "_Hatori_?"

"Yes…?" Hatori gave a nervous scowl as if he were about to be scolded.

"What a fruitless name. You should go by Enkhtuya instead. A respectable name for a well-put together person like yourself." Naran said in a tone that Hatori was unsure if she was being sarcastic or serious. "_Hatori_… Sounds like…" In his still-developing knowledge of the language, he just barely caught the word parallel to that of _vomit_.

Kana nudged her sister. "Stop it. Hatori is a lovely name."

Yisu snickered. "Mom, everyone here knows it literally has, like, no meaning." Turning to her nephew, she said, "We all picked up some Japanese when we heard you were coming. Tricky language. So, why the funky name?"

"Uh, well…" Hatori's shoulders hiked up in his embarrassment and his eyes darted to the right, searching for something to say. It was not the first time his name was spat out like black tar, hardly the first time anyone poked fun at it. "Mom actually named me the moment I was born. Said it just came to her in the moment." As he admitted it, he regretted it.

Thankfully, Batuhan approved, "It's a gentle name. Much like Kara." He took a sip of his vodka and hummed. "She was a wildfire in her youth, but still…a gentle soul is a gentle soul. Something she passed on to you, it seems."

"So," Yisu smirked playfully at the nephew that was only two years her junior. "What's the next red flag? Is your favorite drink an apple-tini?"

Hatori offered a grin that she perceived as roguish. "I didn't realize it was still 1995."

Yisu twirled her chestnut hair with her forefinger, gray eyes sliding along his athletic frame, his trim shoulders that teased the fabric of his shirt. "A jokester. I like you. So, what's your poison?"

"Usually, tequila or rum. Maybe some brandy here and there."

"Like vodka? We got plenty of that."

"I'm game. Sure."

Kana sighed heavily, irritated that her daughter would even behave like this in front of a new family member. "Yisu. Be civilized."

"I'm just playing, Mom," Yisu replied, simply.

"It's okay," Hatori intervened, plucking up a cicada with his fingers (copying everyone else) and, keeping the legs away from his tongue by flipping it on its back, took a hesitant bite out of its upper half. "Wow," he said, through the mouthful, "that's…that's good."

"You look like you're going to hurl, kiddo," Batuhan joked. "Don't eat any more. It's all right. Your mom didn't fancy them either, really."

"No, no, it's fine." Hatori opted to swallow, rather than chew and expose whatever fluids might leak out. "It's really…meaty. Thank you for putting this all together, but you really didn't have to." From his sitting position, he bowed slightly.

Laughing, the aging man said, "You're so stiff, son. I ought to smack you to loosen you up!"

"What? Oh, sorry." Hatori stared at his grandfather when the latter pulled a face at the umpteenth apology he dished out since arriving only hours ago. "I mean, I'm _not_— Nevermind. Sorry—"

Batuhan held his hand up to pause Hatori's upcoming nervous rambling. "We'll work on that." He chuckled. "Learn not to apologize for simply being you. Understand?"

"Yes, sir. Sorr—" Catching himself and shoving the automatic apology down his throat, Hatori bit his tongue and broke eye contact with everyone for a moment, the entire pigment of his face scorched red. "Right. Work on it."

"You're a good boy, though," Kana commented. "Most city folk are…too proud, too headstrong." Hatori nodded. "You try to criticize out of nothing but love, and they want to argue!"

Though he had his own opinions, Hatori said, "Yes, ma'am. There's always a lot going on, that's for sure. You're never really bored, and if you are, then you should be worried." The Nergüis laughed in agreement. Dinner continued with ease, all of them enjoying the Okinawa-born wine and Naran's famous cinnamon-pear gambir for dessert. Far after everyone had finished eating, though, the reunited family remained at the low, round table to chatter and joke on till the dial clock struck nine o'clock. With a specific range of merriment in everyone's speech by the fifth bottle, only Hatori seemed to notice that his grandmother was fast asleep in her sitting position, still gripping her glass.

"She's fine," Batuhan and Kana said almost in unison.

Yisu amused, "This happens a lot. Just let her be."

Seeing it wise not to insist, Hatori simply accepted. But either by doctoral expertise or his own conscience, he kept his eye on her and gently took her wrist in his hands under the table to keep watch of her blood pressure, trying not to attract the attention of the others. Another handful of minutes passed before she snapped her head up and smiled at Hatori, mouthing a thank-you as if nothing had happened.

##

After loads of convincing and near-arguing with both Shigure and Kyo, it was settled that Hatori would abide by his elderly relatives' wishes to spend some more time at the house and stay the night—for it was too deep into the night and he had consumed a considerable amount of alcohol not too long ago. It was out-of-the-ordinary for Hatori to go through with something so fast-paced like this—these were still de-facto strangers—but, well, he was quietly ecstatic to be here with his once-lost family, excited to learn more about the mother he dearly missed for years, the mother his foolish nine-year-old self refused to hold hands with in her final moments. Exhausted from all the back-and-forths and reassurances that everything would be fine (he knew how to fight, if need be), Hatori sighed after the line had gone silent, seated on his mother's bed. The more he thought about it, the mattress and sheets still carried the scent of her hair. He knew it well from midnight nightmares and sleepwalks of his childhood.

"It's past bedtime, kiddo." Batuhan's voice caused him to shudder and stand up in defense. But, seeing his grandfather, he relaxed. The middle-aged man stood at the door with his hands in his pockets and a gentle, but firm smile on his face. "Been a long day, huh?"

"Yeah, but it was nice, too." Hatori said this as he sat back down. "Thanks again…for letting me stay here. I really could have called an Uber or something—"

His grandfather shook his head. "Even if you could get an Uber out here, this's what family does."

"I guess I should probably tell you that I sleepwalk sometimes, so…" Hatori nervous admitted, a pink tint to his cheeks. "If I end up standing over you or something, please don't think I'm an intruder and punch me."

Batuhan laughed openly at this. "I like your sense of humor, Hatori. Erden was a sleepwalker, too."

Hatori nodded slowly before scrunching his eyebrows down, hoping not to intrude. "Can I ask you something? Who's Erden?"

"My son," Batuhan said. "Kara's other half."

"Mom…had a twin brother?"

"Yup. Inseparable, those two…"

"You're kidding." But inside, Hatori had suspected that his mother had a brother—given the two teddy bears, one pink, one blue, by the foot of the double bed and the accent wall split by a feminine and a masculine shade of purple. And by the music mobile hanging over the bed and tub, the wall-mounted fish on one side of the bed, and a collection of pinned butterflies on the other, he knew his grandparents dearly missed their children. "You're _not_ kidding…" Hatori said, staring at the decorations.

"Dead serious." Batuhan came over and sat on the mattress beside his grandson, glowering at the wall with an air of exhaustion from years of mourning and longing. "Those two were my life. It pains me to hear about Kara, but it hurts more that we couldn't be there for you, son, when it happened."

Hatori watched him, studying his face as best he could from side-view. "Mom used to say that everything happens for a reason, in God's vision." Batuhan looked at him, intensely. "So…you shouldn't blame yourself. For any of that."

"Me not blaming myself is that important to you?"

"Yeah. But what's also important is that I got the pleasure of meeting you all."

Batuhan analyzed the smoothness of Hatori's speech, the cautious way he sat as to not consume too much space, and the smirk he gave just now that had a tint of natural mischief, yet offered more comfort than a full smile would. "You sound like her. Your mom." Hatori chuckled. Then, considering the foreign curve of his chin, slit of his eyes, and the bouncy laugh Batuhan had heard during dinner, he asked, glancing down at his hands, "Who did she marry? Your father a good man?"

"Oh, yeah," Hatori said. "Dad was great. Everything I am is because of him."

"And you all lived in Japan, you said?"

Hatori, reading between the lines, said directly, "Dad was Chinese. Mandarin. But due to other family…connections, yes. We live in Japan."

"I see," Batuhan said. "Interesting. Well, you're a good boy." Hatori crinkled his nose, raising an eyebrow—only to drop it in a heartbeat when his grandfather looked at him again. "Kara and your father raised a very good boy."

"Uh…" Hatori slowly nodded. "Thank you. That's awfully generous of you to say."

"Hm." Batuhan, taking a moment to simply appreciate the traces of his long-lost daughter (and her brother) in his grandson, rose to his feet after giving the Dragon's knee a heavy pat. "All right, kiddo. Best we get to bed."

"Yes, sir."

"Övöö. Grandpa—I'm not getting any younger."

"Oh, right. Sorry," Hatori said, scratching the back of his head when his grandfather gave him a stern look for the nervous apology. "I mean: yes, Övöö."

Batuhan nodded in approval, a tad surprised that his daughter had raised such a respectful young man. "Good night."

"Night." When the door shut and then the next one down and around the hall, Hatori slowly walked over to the window, opening the wings out to allow moonlight to shower the room. The howls and wails of crickets (thankfully, the cicadas had turned in) reverberated like a top-volume bass at a rave, but it was fine—despite the obvious welcome, Hatori needed a breath, something familiar enough to pull his suspicious mind from the fact that he was in a house of strangers. But he knew that most likely had been Daisuke's over-cautious echo in his conscience. Crossing his arms on the pane and resting his chin on them, he stared at the silver plate in the sky with a calming sigh, reminding himself that this was supposed to a trip to enjoy, not ponder or worry over. He had his family's support back at Longzhu, he knew—and if need be, he could always go to them if all the news about his mother became too much.

"Give us the word," Ayame had said, finally acting like the oldest of the trio, "and we'll get out of here, and go enjoy the rest of vacation elsewhere."

Hatori had rolled his eyes as he casually drank his coffee. "You're worrying again." The youngest, Shigure, simply chuckled, though he too expressed the same concern prior, causing Hatori to slip him a warning glare, not wanting to have two people on his case. Well, three, counting Kyo. "Everything'll be fine. Don't worry."  
Earlier that morning, Hatori could not sleep from six o'clock and on; so, he opted to get air on the balcony of the three-part cottage the Sohma-Honda support group rented out, staring ahead at the distant ocean from the subtle second floor height. From the downstairs room, Tohru noticed his tossing and turning all night, and after catching some hours of sleep herself, was awakened by the brief crisp of summer air when he had gone out—for the cottage hotel tended to inhale and exhale as people came and went. Glancing at Kyo to her side, she dressed in a long robe and tied it around her waist, careful not to wake him. Then, once she was upstairs, she knocked gently and cracked the door to see Kureno in Hatori's bed and Hiro on the couch pull-out in the same room, both fast asleep. She noted that only she and the Dragon were misfortunate enough to be up at such an hour. Right as she closed the balcony's door, quietly as she could, Hatori's voice startled her, "You, too, huh?"

Tohru stood at the door, waiting for it to click. "Oh, uh…" _Click_. "I was just thinking about how beautiful this morning is." The doctor hummed. She thought it a little out-of-character that Hatori did not turn to greet her—she knew him enough to understand this was not out of disrespect or just plain rough-around-the-edges quality. So, she came to him, standing at his side and gazing out at the ocean like he was. "Wow, look at the water…!"

"It's just water, Tohru," Hatori said, dully.

The Riceball gave a small laugh, reading right through him, causing him to smile gently. "So, if I can ask a question…"

"You mustn't be so formal." He looked at her finally. "Speak your mind."

"Oh!" Tohru nervously twirled her hair behind an ear, remembering the many times Kyo, Yuki, Shigure, and, well, the majority of the Sohmas had told her the same thing. "Sorry! Um, well…I was just wondering what about the water intrigued you so much."

"Hm?"

"After years of knowing you and living with you," Tohru said with nothing but warmth in her tone, "I've noticed that you look most at-home in the water. And well, I _do_ know you usually go for a swim at the beach at least three times a week, even in the winter! Here I thought you might be crazy—"

"Oh."

"_N-not _in a bad way, though!" Tohru panicked, flailing her hands in all directions. "I meant crazy as in…spontaneous…? No… Maybe that's not the word either… Um… Uh…"

Hatori chuckled, giving cease to her rambling. "It's okay. Don't worry." She watched him as he watched the water. "I figure it's probably something with my Zodiac. That's the most reasonable answer I can come up with. Same reason why Kyo finds comfort in high places. Seahorses exist in the water, so…"

Tohru nodded in understanding, considering his words and deciding it to be a good explanation. But she continued to study the view. "Sorry about yesterday, by the way. I didn't mean to react like that." She had crashed into him while everyone was busy unpacking and storing clothes in the complementary drawers and closets, and before the smoke had cleared, she was in a panicking frenzy to find water for the small seahorse on the ground, protecting him from everyone else's feet.

Hatori's ears burned pink instantly. "It's fine. You did what was necessary."

"Well, sure, but the _toilet_…? I don't think I've ever disrespected someone _that_ bad before. I'm so sorry."

"Like I said, you did what was necessary." Hatori chuckled. "A real seahorse wouldn't survive toilet water, but obviously I did. So, it's okay."

Tohru could not help but smile again, taking his word. A moment of quiet passed the two, with only the gentle whistle of morning wind occupying the space. Elderly couples journeyed to the pool for exercise down below, she noticed, never letting go of each other's hands. Early commuters on the highway to the east cruised along at a pace much slower than she would see back home. But Hatori never broke his gaze from the distant blue. "I think…" A single amethyst eye slid to her, not wanting to make it obvious that he was watching her, "I think of water as a pathway, or a bridge, even. It flows around the world and throughout cities, and by doing that, it links everyone together. It's a massive job, but it's also a kind one that few can do, really. It provides for everyone, and it protects them, too. So, I think maybe that's why the water comforts you, Hatori. You can relate to it. I can see those traits in you. Everyone can." Hatori's face flushed further, though his stone expression would not break, but it did crack. Tohru's smile widened, thinking about the comparison. "We can feel it. Your love for us. But as much as you take care of us, we in turn must take care of our ocean and be strong for it. So, Hatori…"

When he braved a fuller glance at her, turning his attention to her under his hair, she possessed a smile so angelic, so pure that there almost seemed to be a glow of light around her form. For an instant, he saw a mother and such a sight, such a thought brought him great pause.

"Let us take care of you, too. That's what family does." Tohru shrugged. "After all, family's strongest together, right?"

Hatori laughed a little. "You're going to give Shigure a run for his money."

"Wha—? N-no! I— Uh—"

As he observed the way she hiked up her shoulders and toyed with her fingers and hair, he realized in the moment that while he may be what she said, but she too was a bridge, as well. She too was bestowed the task of linking broken halos anew and linking injured souls to light.

But in his mind, he was not a bridge suited for all; rather, a bridge still sturdy, but molded with jealousy from a sparrow's view, mangled with quiet rage only heard by said bird who tested the weakest of the planks with the tiniest steps. A bridge only suitable for those who took the time to inspect every crack of the wood with gentle, honest care.  
Neither was he the water, but fire—an ancient dragon's legacy reduced by time, by effort of breath. Spent, this energetic heartbeat had given many, but required only that that sustained the pace. Ashes, like walls around his center, were white like winter as they stacked high about the fire—so high as to reach the embers off the tip of every flailing arm thereof. By gust of wind or instability of ashes' grain, the pile toppled and the roaring fire foundered to a gold glow under wood's remains. A phoenix asphyxiating on the corpse of that which it rose from, its flame's glow beneath grayness in dire need of crystal-clear, cleansing mercy. In dire need of the death of his prior, burning Dragon to give way for a new, healed Seahorse—something he had attempted to do following his post-assault plummet and revival. Attempted, but never _quite _succeeded.

He had not thought about it until now, with Tohru's words echoing in his head, reminding him of his since-forgotten resolve, courtesy of medical studies and heartbreak. While not in love with her, he loved Tohru all over again. Leaning off the rail, Hatori shoved his hands in his pockets and said, "Thank you." Tohru watched him, studying the soft smile he gave her in return, as gold rose from the line where the yawning sky met the glittering sea. She gave a small laugh of acceptance and affection when he placed a hand on her head. "Everything'll be fine. I promise." And she believed him.

Now, Hatori startled himself from his trance in a shake—something he commonly did—and stared out in the night. His demonic mind, though sharp, would be his undoing, he swore. As this immenseness of thought exhausted him, he settled upon the rationale that his infatuation with water was by Zodiac-trait—seahorses belonged in water. That was it.  
As his eyes adjusted from the bright moonlight to the shadowy shapes under the forest trees, he briefly made out the sparkle of water, a fair-sized lake, perhaps, between the screens of leaves. Deciding it would be best to calm himself, as he would sleep with enthusiastic strangers next room over, he decided it would be fitting to spend some minutes submerged, where it was quiet and no one without his Zodiac-provided lung capacity could bother him. So, he stealthily threw his legs over the pane, hopped down onto the grass, and walked to the water, guided by moon rays and impulse.


	2. Chapter 2 - Wine on the Ivories

**A/N:** Just a peek-in 'cause I feel like there may be confusion on Hatori's maternal family:

Batuhan "Ovoo" - Hatori's grandfather  
Naran "Emee" - Hatori's grandmother  
Kana - Hatori's great-aunt, sister of Naran (not the Kana Sohma we know; and yes, I named her this to troll Ha'ri)  
Yisu - Hatori's aunt, who is just a few years his senior  
Erden - Hatori's uncle, twin of Kara  
Kara - Hatori's mother (Mongolian)  
Daisuke - Hatori's father (Chinese)  
Turgen - not family, but Hatori's mother, Kara's, ex-boyfriend

Think that's it! Enjoy! R&R!

**Chapter Two Wine on the Ivories**

Hatori played on the family piano the next morning after breakfast. Prior, he had given his family at Longzhu a call, reassuring them he was still alive and would not be making an appearance on _Dateline _or _Blood Relatives _any time soon (well, that one was specifically for Kyo). While Batuhan had gone to fetch some more alcohol and tea for the week, Naran had laid down for a nap, Kana took to gardening in the backyard, and Yisu quietly watched Hatori with a glass of red wine, standing at the archway behind him. Only in admiration did she gaze upon him, studying the dips of his back, the slight bulges of his muscles as he played, and the silent strength in his precise fingers.

With only a passing chill associated with watching eyes, Hatori shrugged a little, but not so much as to disrupt his playing. Since the attack when he was sixteen, watchful eyes had stirred unease and unsatisfied anxiety inside him, not easily calmed by careful words or rationality. But regardless, he gathered his thoughts, reasoned his racing mind to tranquility, and let the feeling pass with a steady breath. In his mind, he ran the events of breakfast over and over again, trying to rationalize his grandfather's distaste for his late-night adventure as natural, familial concern, a simple guess that also applied to his grandmother's contained anger when he was confronted about it by his great-aunt. Kana had mentioned that, with his fragile immune system, he must take extraneous measures when swimming at nighttime—not that it was sympathetic to the conversation, but Hatori could not recall mentioning his illness to her, or any of them. Perhaps he had told her when she visited him in Japan. "Yeah," he had said when Yisu sent him a questioning glance. "I have lupus."

"I figured," Naran had commented, casually sipping her cabbage soup. Much to his unease and utter confusion, she smiled at him as if he were a child caught eavesdropping.

"You're sharp, huh, Emee?" he had said, trying to tamper down his emotions, assuming this was some sort of teasing game they played. "That's good." Batuhan gave a rather authoritative nod at him and winked at his wife.

"Thank you, darling." Naran's smile only widened, and she took the cloth napkin from her lap and dabbed her staring grandson's face, where a stray piece of egg found refuge on his chin. "Always the messy eater," she had continued, then pinched his cheek when she had finished the primping. "Oh, but you're just so precious."

Hatori scowled a little in concentration, trying to understand. But he could only settle upon the possibility that he had told Great Auntie Kana during her visit, and due to the notorious lupus-induced brain fog, he had forgotten that he had even brought it up. That had to be it. Concluding that that was the truth, convincing himself that it had to be, the tension in his neck unwound and the tightness in his shoulders relaxed to a natural lag. The hectic crescendo of the piano calmed to a peaceful mezzo-forte, and he gazed out the open window at the sunflowers peeking through the willow's screen as if the yellowness was being confined in a rather serene cell. A thing so vibrant hidden away as to be overlooked by any passerby. Acknowledging the extent that his mind can wonder at any given moment—something he had been reprimanded for since toddler-hood—he snapped himself out of the stupor and scanned the room in case anyone had spoken to him. "Oh, sorry." He stopped playing and turned around to face her. "I didn't hear you."

Yisu, however, remained there, observing. "No. It's fine. I was just stopping by." She came over and sat beside her only six-years-junior nephew, placing her wine glass in her lap. "I never learned to play. But then again, Aunt Naran and Uncle Batuhan never let me touch it, growing up."

"That's what she said." Yisu sent him a questioning look, to which he, noticing he had said it out loud, shifted his attention elsewhere for a moment. "Uh… Really? They didn't let you play it?" Hatori asked, wondering why his grandfather simply told him to help himself to it during the official house tour after breakfast. "Is it an heirloom or something?"

"It was Erden's."

"Mom's brother." He mainly said this to himself.

Yisu hummed and took a sip from her glass. "It must be wearing on you already, but you really do look like them. The twins, I mean. I can't really narrow it down to how, but you just do." She met his eyes, gazing hard into them.

Hatori replied in a polite, but flat voice, "I _am_ Kara's son. Biologically, it makes perfect sense that I would resemble her and Erden."

His aunt laughed immediately at that. "You're so stiff, li'l nephew." She messed up his hair a little, and though he did not particularly care to be toyed with, he gave her a small, apologetic smile. A pressured quiet overran them, with cicadas humming, birds vocalizing songs of togetherness, and fishes swirling other fishes in the pond near the sunflowers.

Hatori, now nervous under the weight of her stare, inched back and drew his eyebrows together. "So, if I can ask you a question—" He was silenced by the plump, wet lips of Yisu when she snatched his face. She tasted of red wine, sweet seduction, already-burgeoned flowers spreading their petals only wider and wider…and a summery dose of damnation. Hatori grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back as forcibly, but gently as he could. "I'm sorry, but what are you doing? I mean, I already know what you're doing. But _why_ are you doing that?"

"I'm sorry," Yisu said, blushing. She glanced down at her wine, causing Hatori to do the same. He took it from her hand and placed it on the window pane. "I didn't mean to— It must be the wine. Or…something, I don't know."

Completely uncomfortable, Hatori stood and pressed himself to the window, but never breaking his sight of her. "I don't mean to press, but _please_…just…why?"

"I don't know! You just…look too similar."

"Sure, because what's summer without a little late morning incest!"

"Don't act so offended, nephew! Jesus, am I _that_ unattractive to you?!"

"You're my _aunt_!"

"No one knew me like Erden, okay?!" Yisu commented, a short glare sent her nephew's way and crossing her arms.

"I doubt that, now!"

Yisu snapped, "Don't be cynical."

"I understand," Hatori said, calming himself little by little. "But I'm not him. I look like him, sure, but I'm _not _him." Yisu huffed and looked out the window. "I'm sorry—"

Before he could comprehend it, she stood and slapped him across the face. When he looked back at her, she had tears in her eyes. "You're sorry?"

Hatori, despite his stinging face, blinked in his usual way. "Yes."

In her smoky eyes were daggers, but also lust beneath all the anger; she hugged herself, breaking eye contact with the Dragon. "I heard from Mom that you were a private person, but you don't have to be so stone-cold about it."

"We're family, Yisu," Hatori said. "That's what it all narrows down to." But as he spoke, she snatched her wine from the window and left the room in a heartbeat, downing the rest of it before she passed the next doorframe. Letting out a long sigh, Hatori wiped a hand down his face. "Holy shit," he muttered. Pulling out his phone, he considered calling his family to inform them that his aunt lusted for him. Imagine the inspiration Shigure would draw from that… He could already hear the Mabudachi's junior's laughter and the trio's (still immature) senior's overprotective, overly-dramatic claims to swoop in to save their middle-child from the evil clutches of whoever and blah, blah, _blah_. Opting against it for now, Hatori shoved his phone back in his pocket. Now alone, he wished not to remain in the room where he involuntarily committed familial taboo, so he walked out in the opposite direction that Yisu had retreated to. Murmuring could be heard upstairs, where the rest of the family slept; ever-curious, Hatori followed the voices, stealthily, standing on the middle-point of the staircase.

"…know that. But that doesn't mean—"

"Perhaps it does."

"Naran. You're talking nonsense again."

"Am I? Batu says the same. But he's more supportive than you've been."

"Don't make statements like that. I know you've been skipping doses."

"Quiet down. Enkhtuya's still in the house. Don't disturb him." Footsteps. Hatori raced down the stairs as soundlessly as he could in the haste, and sat back down at the piano bench, staring out the window when they came in. Naran kissed his hair, hands on his shoulders. "Done playing already? You play so well."

Hatori chuckled, but he thought only of his mother. "Yeah. It's just…so nice out here. It seems criminal to stay inside."

Kana smoothed back his bangs. "Well, then… We could use some help with the groceries. I can give you money. Why don't you head to the store for us?"

"I'm making dumplings tonight. Already have half of them wrapped up. We just need beverages, bamboo shoots, and eggs," Naran said. "How do you say that in Chinese, honey? Dumpling?"

"_Jiaozi_," Hatori replied, simply.

"And in Japanese?"

"_Gyoza_ or _dango_—really depends on which dish you're referring to."

"Ah," Naran joked. "Look at you! Here's the real test, though. How do you say dumpling in Mongolian?"

"Uh…" Hatori thought for a moment. "_Buuz_…?"

Naran chuckled. "Correct!" She pinched his cheeks, cooing about how smart he was, how well-rounded he came out to be. And Hatori let her, simply enduring the additional humiliation of his great-aunt watching. After a bit, his grandmother retrieved a map from one of the drawers by the door and pointed to a rectangle building. "Now, the store's about ten minutes away. Right before you leave the outskirts, there're streets lined with shops and stores and bakeries. It's right here."

"Hongzhi Street," clarified Kana, still rolling her eyes at her sister's fawning. "Be sure to hurry. If your favorite meal isn't motivation enough, I'm not sure _what _is."

Hatori smiled, but his stomach dropped. Had he mentioned what his favorite meal was? "Sure," he said, slowly. "No problem."

"Take the truck," His great-aunt quickly fetched her purse in the next room and returned with her wallet in her hand. "Batuhan takes the sedan to work."

"Okay," Hatori agreed as he was slipped money. Naran nodded. "I'll be back, then."

##

"15.74," said a middle-aged cashier, graying hair on his balding head. Hatori nodded, face flushed beyond summer heat—since he stepped foot outside the truck, the townsfolk have not ceased their blatant staring at him, gazes of interest, of shock, of familiarity. But regardless, he had dealt with looking—and plainly, _being_ different—than other people for as long as he could remember; but the constant attention was starting to bother him a small bit. He paid the cashier and offered a polite smile when the elderly man kept staring. "You know, you look like someone. I can't remember who—"

"Kara and Erden Nergüi?" Hatori suggested, already knowing.

The cashier, his name was Jonghis, snapped his fingers. "That's it. Sorry. I bet you're tired of hearing that by now."

Hatori chuckled. "It's fine. It's bound to happen when one visits family. I'm Kara's son."

"That explains it," Jonghis said. "Sorry if I came on a little too forward."

"Not a problem." Hatori took a glance around the store, for reasons he did not quite know yet, before he asked, "Out of curiosity," hoping not to intrude too much, "what happened to them—"

"Oh, that. A real tragedy." The cashier shook his head in disapproval, and as he spoke, Hatori's expression dropped from curious to something close to dreadful confusion. "Some say they were trying to run away to the big city, try their hands out at the fast life. You know, with all those temptations. Erden, unfortunately, wasn't as lucky as his sister."

"What do you mean?" Hatori asked, almost in a panic. "What happened to him—"

"It's not proper to pry, son."

A hard-of-hearing elderly man behind him hollered, "_Move_, boy! You got cotton in your cornhole?!"

Massively embarrassed, the Dragon gathered his stuff and bowed to the line that he had not noticed until now. "Sorry." He hurried from the store as civilly as he could in mixed company. Outside, he tossed the bags in the passenger seat and let out a sigh, allowing the quickening of his heart to pass. _Why would Mom and her brother run away? _With the knowledge that every family had its share of secrets, he scowled and chose to disregard the churning of his stomach. Erden filled his mind—did the fact that he 'wasn't as lucky' as Kara mean he got caught? Or did it mean, from the townsfolks' point of view, that he managed to distance himself from Yakeshi entirely? But was that not what Kara had done? More confused than before, Hatori ran his fingers through his hair and turned the key in the ignition. Right then, his phone's ringtone erupted in the rift of some George Strait song. "_Shit_," he said, and put it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hatori, it's me," Kana said. "Are you on your way, dear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Hatori half-lied. "There was a bit of a line. But I'm coming."

"Good."

He wished to ask her about the estranged twins, but the lingering silence on the other line, as if a warning, prompted him to remain just as silent. After all, as he had learned over time, prying is rarely appropriate. On the drive back, Hatori watched the tall oaks and magnolias speed past. His mother hated magnolia trees; willows made her cry. Every time he asked her why, it was never the proper place or moment—she would only reel him away from everyone else or chide him until Daisuke came to his rescue.

But his father could not always spare him from her untimely mood shifts, nor did she always have a certain _bite_ to her tone with him. But that bite proved to be a mere pinch when she gifted him a piano for his seventh birthday. "_Ai-ya_," she would fuss when he would slam the keys just for the sake of creating a massive sound. "Hatori! That is not proper."

Hatori would challenge, "Daddy said proper isn't fun—"

"But it's necessary," Kara had said, strictly. "I know. Understand the _whole _message, not just the one part." The piano lessons started shortly after that—every day after homework, sometimes in the middle of his playing with Shigure and Ayame and Kureno. Kara would call from their house, "Hatori! Piano, now! It's 4 o'clock." That single command alone, in time, would be enough to make him burst into tears. Shigure and Ayame would tease him, of course, with _how-bad-can-it-be_'s and _oh-no-not-the-dreaded-piano_'s. But he knew just how bad the piano can be, how each key was weighed down by his mother's expectations, her disappointments when he messed up, her boasting right to the other Sohma parents when he mastered songs that never seemed to end. By the time he was eight, the pressure came on like cranes pushing his temples into each other. By then, he had resisted his mother to painstaking lengths; he would hide from her, lie about some after school activity, throw a tantrum here and there until she would opt to lift-dragging him to the piano bench. There were times he contemplated running away because of it. He would only tell his father, and they would disappear together. Anywhere this form of Kara was not. But he knew Daisuke would never leave his mother, nor would he let him go anywhere on his own. But he could not take another day with her pulling him along by the hand to the store, stopping nearly everyone in their tracks, saying, "Hello, I'm Kara. This is my son, Hatori. You must have heard about him and his musical skills. Sometimes, he forgets about his homework because all he wants to do is play the piano!" Hatori could only stand there by her side, blushing under the massive image she gussied him up to fit into. Every passerby's reaction was the same—a blending of surprise, pride, and envy as they knelt down to get a closer look at him, as if to see if his face matched that of a genius. He never knew what they saw peeking back at them. He only knew that he hated every minute of it.

Later, dinner carried on in its casual way, with everyone talking and laughing—but mostly, Naran had asked Hatori to tell stories about his life and city people, the latter mainly for Batuhan to scoff and rant about. He told them about his parents, the summer trips they took with his godparents and Kenan, and some about his own family that awaited him at Longzhu. Though not by name, he also told of a particular loud-mouthed Cat he had grown close to over the past years. But every time he looked to the piano in the next room, he could nearly see his mother pulling him towards it, could almost hear her barking orders and warnings over his pleading cries. Despite the numerous occasions they had done this, only one occasion bore into his mind, only one tugged any valid excuse from his heart, filling the gash with guilt.

Kara was on her final lick of patience with her son's defiance; and Hatori knew this, but more importantly, he was through with her boasting of him. "Hatori," she said, standing over him as he flipped through _Dracula_ for the second time. "It's 4. Piano."

"I don't want to play anymore." As usual, their wrestling went on for a minute before she had him on the bench again, collapsed in tears. Hatori's entire body burned, a wildfire in his eight-year-old frame. "I wish I was dead!" he spat before he could stop it. "I wish I could disappear!"

"Well, you can't!" Kara replied, catching her breath from all the fighting. "Just because you don't want to something doesn't mean you can just drop it! Stop throwing a fit—"

"Then I wish _you_ disappeared!" That shut her up. She bit the inside of her cheek, nostrils flaring—the same way he would whenever Kyo or Kisa, in her juvenile disdain, would test him. "I wish someone would lock _you_ up and make you do something you hate—"

His mother slapped him for the first and only time that evening. In his rage, he had hardly felt it until later when Daisuke tucked him in for bed, but it was his mother's expression that silenced him. Through the haze, he could see Kara's face swell with water. For days following, she spoke not a single word to him, not matter how many times he apologized or cried or begged. She remained in the silence of the living room, gazing out the window, numb to his existence.

"If you guys want me to learn a skill," he said to his father one day, sitting on the latter's mahogany desk. "Then how come I can't try anything else? Why does it have to be piano right now?"

His father's answer, of course, was to be patient and trust him and Kara, to know that no matter what they only wished the best for their child. But Hatori still could not understand. But he resolved first to have his mother back.

"Sometimes, things that we say," Daisuke explained to him, "bring up…bad memories for other people. Mommy will always love you, but she just needs time right now." He wiped his son's tears and smiled gently in his usual way—another trait Hatori obtained along the way. Hatori, though, for the first time, doubted his father and his kind words. Her words over his head, her grips on his arm and palm to his face, the single glare she gave that made him cry himself to sleep. They did not happen all the time, but when they did, they _did_. This was not love. It could not be. Is _this _what people risked everything for, fought for, died for? Did Kara even love him, he wondered once. Was she another parent that resented their child's Zodiac? He could only drop his eyes from Daisuke. "But make sure you let her know you're sorry."

But he was not. Not entirely, at the time. There were many things he was not sorry for until Kara called to him on her deathbed. Maybe that was why his favorite stories and films were not horror or action or romance; but dramas in which children find their way back to their parents, or at least have some earth-rattling epiphany to better understand their mom or dad. Tales of unconditionally good children with compassionate parents, not selfish sons who said harmful things, who refused to hold their mothers in the final hour.

Upon her weeklong visit to Japan, Kana had exploded on him after he shrugged at one of her questions about Kara as an adult. "_Ai_!" Her chopsticks smacked against the table as she shrieked this. "How does a son not know his own mother!" And he had no answer—not then, not when Kyo pressed to know what her deal was, not even when he saw her again yesterday. How could a son know nothing of his mother?

It must have been some sort of divine punishment, some karma curving back at him.

Hatori looked up from his patient reports, realizing he had not achieved much from when he started hours ago…and that he had fallen asleep at the desk—and also, by the wet blotches and smeared ink by his signature, that he had been crying in his dream. It was not a nightmare or vague memory, just a single image. His mother's face, her subtle smile, as if he were simply staring at her photograph—and when he had reached for it, it vanished into nothingness. With nothing in particular to wake him other than a withered throat, he stood groggily, organized the files back into their binder, and switched house sweats for pajama sweats. As stealthily as he could manage, he pried the door wide enough for his body to fit. Only in passing the hallway mirror, as his eyes adjusted to the dark, did he notice a thick line of black upon his forehead. "The hell…?" He raked his fringes up to see the full spectrum of it, touching its graininess, smelling nothing from it on his finger, tasting nothing but the inside of his mouth (which he knew was technically not the best way to go about analyzing a foreign substance, but curiosity was curiosity). It was just…there. So, he went back, to the conjoining bathroom of his mother's room, flicked on the light, and washed his face. And when he had finished, drying himself with a small towel, he noticed specks of black powder on the latte counter, on the pastry-white tile floor. His only logical excuse—perhaps he sleepwalked again, got into something in the cabinets. So, he continued on his original destination, navigating through the moonlit hallway, bumping into the coffee table in the front room and nicking his hip on the wall corner. As he passed the chimney by the stairs, he noticed candlelight flicking at the flowery wallpaper of the piano room just around the corner. The closer he drew, the more hastily the tiger iris's lavender leapt from the cream backsplash. Unsettled by the innovated thorns of the iris, Hatori remained where he stood, watching them, as if expecting a shard to dart through him if he breathed.

"Thorny flowers," his godmother, Emiko—Daisuke's sister—warned him when he was eleven, "bring nothing but pain. Unhappiness. Stay away from them."

Hatori, since infanthood, was notoriously curious, though, and prone to being consumed by his own mind and wonders. He got ever-closer to the dim room as if mesmerized by the dancing irises on fire. Fire, much like the wings of a phoenix, resurrected, free from its ashes…but very much burning, simmering, raging. The purple flowers' ease roared at him the nearer he became, but he went, cautiously. Beyond the archway and the wallpaper and the scorching flowers, he saw her. "Emee?" She did not respond, content with sleeping there on the claret-stained piano. Out of routine dutiful habit, Hatori quickly came to her side when he spotted more of it in her palm; and to his relief, the red was merely spilled wine from the dripping glass tangled in her fingers. "Emee?" he pressed again, firmer, placing two fingers to her neck to check her pulse—weak, but okay. "Emee, I think you enjoyed the wine a little too much tonight. Let's go to bed now." Nothing more than a simple groan. If she could groan, she could breathe. Hatori sighed lightly, trying to figure what to do, though he had the medical skills necessary. She was fine—just drunk beyond comprehension—but moving her from here to bed upstairs would not work out well for either of them. It would set his mind straight if he had known what medication she was on. However, apparently, asking _that_ much was improper. Batuhan's stern look told him that much. Even as a doctor, Hatori had to know his place. "Emee, please. I need you to wake up."

"What's going on—" Batuhan asked from the doorway. "Oh, no."

"I found her like this a minute ago," Hatori said as his grandfather passed him. "Övöö, I know she's on meds. But how do they affect her in the event that she consumes alcohol? I mean, I checked her vitals. She's fine, technically—"

"_Naran_." Batuhan took the toppled wine glass from his wife and gave her a sturdy shake by the shoulder. "Honey. You know you're not supposed to drink that much." He gathered his wife in his arms and turned to give his grandson an apologetic grin. "She gets a little tipsy from her meds, and then, of course, the alcohol. She loves red a little too much."

"Övöö, is she—"

"Not now, son. She's just fine. Sorry you had to see that."

"Yeah," Hatori said, skeptically. "Yeah. It's not a problem at all, really. Sorry—"

Batuhan's grin turned to a light scowl. "Nah! Boy, every time you apologize, I just want to shake you." He laughed, and soon Hatori nervously joined him.

"Right. I'll just go back to bed, then."

"Night."

Naran wriggled a bit in her husband's arms. "Good night, Kara."

Hatori frowned at first, but then remembering that she was completely intoxicated, dropped his previous expression for a more forgiving one. "Night, Emee." Watching them go, he bit down hard on his tongue and looked at the stained piano. The bloody tint that dripped off the keys and onto the wood. Hatori rushed to the bathroom around the corner, back towards his mother's room, and snatched a towel and dampened it under the faucet. Hurrying, he returned to the piano and began dabbing the white and wood, careful to get between the cracks.

Prying was unbecoming of a young man, but he could not ignore the ceaseless foreboding in the realms of his mind. Confidence was one thing in the medical field; confidence and lack of communication, however, never meant good news, anywhere. He knew his anxiety and his overly-zealous imagination firsthand; but in spite of that, he knew himself and his rationality just as fondly. He saw what he saw.

…Right?

Dismissing his suspicions, Hatori went about his way around the width of the house, getting a better feel for the palatial décor, the odd, but calm color scheme, and the numerous harmonies of tiger lilies and sunflowers, either stalked in vases or polished barrels, or simply photographed upon the walls. Clearly, as Batuhan had told him the previous night, the Nergüis missed their children. But what of the sunflowers, he wondered.  
Water bubbled harshly in the thick glass cup Hatori held under the running faucet—being out in the country, sink water had to suffice as the purified water he had back home. When he pushed the tab down and took a drink, a pair of small blue and pink handprints caught his attention. They were mismatching, but completed the image as a tacky whole, and just barely masqueraded by an overgrown houseplant in its pot. The prints were bound to be his mother and uncle. It made sense, and he did not think much more of it. So, he looked past it, leaning on the counter, and into the night sky that seemed to reach the earth. No interruption of buildings or streetlights or zigzagging highways. Truly, it _was_ nice out in the country.

_Erden, unfortunately, wasn't as lucky as his sister_.

Hatori scowled. What did that cashier mean? He reached down into his pocket for his phone—

"Kid."

Gasping, Hatori spun around. Upon the floor, the glass shattered across the coffee-colored pattern, shards hiding in the indentations between plates. "I'm sorry," he said, immediately dropping to collect the pieces.

Batuhan came across the room, flipped on the light, and knelt down to help his grandson. "It was an accident. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Of course not," Hatori said. However, in the back of his mind, he could not believe his grandfather's words. Something was _off_ here, but he had to give them the benefit of the doubt.

"You know…" He looked at Batuhan. "Erden was always so dutiful. Obedient. But Kara had the bigger heart." Regardless of how he and his mother clashed, Hatori smiled and nodded in understanding. "They were good children. Really good. But I worried about them."

"You worried about them moving to the city, right?"

"Sure did."

"Out of curiosity, did you ever live in one?"

Batuhan's thick eyebrows shot down and he shook his head. "No. Never wanted to. Why?"

"It was just a question," Hatori said, gathering all the shards in the cup of his hand and sweeping them into the trash.

The elderly man stood and washed his hands in the sink while the Dragon came back with a towel to dry up the water and any remaining glass between the cracks. "Too many people, too many chances to sin with them. And you can't really have a friendly conversation with anyone without them thinking you've gone nuts." Hatori chuckled. "Tell me, son. How is that living? How is that guaranteeing your own safety?"

"Oh, I… Well, people adapt."

"It's survival of the fittest out there." Batuhan turned to him as he stood. "Out here, everyone's safe, everyone has their fair share, and no one gets hurt."

"Right," Hatori replied, slowly. Again, he had his own opinions, but it would most likely be rude to say—and even if he did speak them, chances are his grandfather would have brushed them under the doormat. "If I can ask you a question, I heard some people around town saying that Erden—"

"Prying is inappropriate, young man," Batuhan corrected, leveling his gaze on Hatori, who nearly looked as if he was being held at gunpoint. After a lingering, awkward silence, the grandfather sighed. "I miss my children with my entire heart. Best we leave it at that."

"Sure," Hatori said. "I didn't mean to be so abrupt. I'm sorry." Batuhan simply nodded, but there was something primitive, something feral in his eyes. The light casted a shadow to dim his brow in a way that Hatori could not pinpoint to necessarily friendly.

"Well," Batuhan said with a heavy breath, "back to bed, it is. Go on."

"If I can ask something else—"

"_Good _boys go to bed when told."

"Excuse me?" Hatori asked, confused. His grandfather gave him a stern look, a disapproving raise-of-the-brow reserved for parents of teenagers. Hatori, in fact, knew that look all too well—it was one he saw countless nights when he would miss curfew and Daisuke was on his way out to find him. He spoke slowly, taken aback and a small bit humiliated. "Right. Okay. I'll…do that. Night." Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and paced from the room, eager to remove himself from the awkwardness in the air. Returning to the twins' room, shutting the door, he heard something…odd. A click or clatter on the front side of the door, so, he investigated. "What the hell…?" he muttered at the sight of a brass stopper on the wall opposite of the hinges. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure his grandfather was not there, Hatori touched the metal, sticking his finger in the holes were bolts had to be screwed in. Figuring he might ask his great aunt about it in the morning, he decided whatever reason it was there could wait for now.

So, off to bed he went, growing evermore cautious of the two teddy bears by the foot of the bolted-down double bed.


	3. Chapter 3 - The Dinner

**Chapter Three The Dinner**

"Yeah, so," Hatori said, his phone pressed between his ear and shoulder as he worked on patient reports and files, "things are pretty much normal back there, huh?"

"Yeah," Kyo said in his usual bullish tone. "Hiro's being a shit, but I'm making sure he's not being more of a shit than usual. Tohru's good—misses you. Shigure and _that guy_ are their usual weird asses. And that damn Rooster still ain't shit."

Hatori chuckled, choosing to excuse the curses for now. "Well, good. I guess…"

"How've you been?"

"Fine," Hatori said, as if the thought just occurred to him. "Fine fine."

"Just…fine?"

"Everyone's really nice, and, uh… Yeah."

"You sure—"

"We're actually hosting a dinner. Apparently, my grandfather's close to the town sheriff, and my grandma's best friend is the wife and neighborhood watch captain, so…" Hatori said, slowly down, finally. "_Yep_. Big dinner."

"Oh, yeah?" Uncertainty could be heard through the Cat's dragged-out answer.

"Uh-huh," Hatori exhaled. "Just my luck, though. I think I misplaced my meds. I still have my back-up, but…it's the weirdest thing."

Kyo's heightened suspicion could be felt like vibrations through the line. "Unc, you sure you want to keep staying in that house?"

"I'm fine, okay? Don't start to worry again." Hatori laughed. "With all the excitement and people around, I probably tossed it somewhere without realizing it. I'll be okay."

"Enkhtuya," Batuhan peeked around the doorframe. Hatori turned to his grandfather, nodded to indicate he heard him. "Your grandmother needs help in the kitchen."

"Okay, sure. Just let me finish this call real quick."

"Now."

Hatori pulled a slightly defensive expression in response, unsure what to say or do next. But Kyo, it seemed, did not have that same paralysis. "What the fuck?" commented the guard-dog Cat.

"_Hey_," Hatori said as though his cousin's voice snapped him back from the stupor. "Listen, boyo, I gotta run. I'll talk to you later, 'kay? Love you all." Without waiting, he hung up and stood, shoving his phone in his pocket. "Emee needs me?"

Batuhan nodded.

Hatori slowly returned the nod, unsure why his grandfather seemed on edge, why he felt so oddly anxious. Sternness and expectant obedience were part of his culture, so what was this off-ness? With a small, awkward parting smile, the Dragon slipped around his grandfather at the door and walked down the long hallway that turned into the living room and dining room. Seeing his grandmother standing there at the sink, still as the wall around her, he approached her cautiously. "Emee, Övöö said I should help—"

Naran whipped around, and before Hatori could comprehend it, something burned his hand. It burned, yet the slightest breeze chilled his arm. When he looked down, there was blood snaking down his fingers onto the kitchen floor. He stared at his sliced palm when his grandmother said in her panic, "Oh! My goodness, honey! I'm so sorry! Come here." She came closer to him, placing the knife down. "Come to me."

But Hatori, being no stranger to familial harm, backed away from her, holding his gushing hand to his body.

"Let me see it, darling. That's it." With his back pressed firmly to the wall, he watched Naran come closer, taking his hand in hers and wincing in sympathy. "Aw… Ouch. Come here."

When she tried to lead him to the sink, he pulled back, almost fearfully. But he masked it up with a (still shaking) matured, non-negotiable voice. "It's all right. I know how to dress it. Give me a minute." He scurried out of the room before she could protest or insist, and he did not stop until he saw the dual-purple room, in which he closed the door behind him before heading to the private bathroom and locking that door as well. Catching his breath in his isolation, he turned on the faucet, letting cool water pour a clear, caterpillar-sized stream down the drain. He stared at it for a moment, then held up his hand, dreading each moment to come. But he had to get the site clean.

Before long, he inched his hand into the running water, wincing as his blood collected in the porcelain bowl. Coldwater became sharp-ended icicles in the slit, and he had to breathe out the pain just long enough to get the red from the flat of his hand. Next, sterilization. Going back into the bedroom, he pried open his med-kit for hydrogen peroxide and cotton pads, drenched one of the wads, and held it over the slash that ran from his pinky's knuckle to his wrist. Repeating the medical risks of leaving the laceration unattended to himself, rationalizing that he _had_ to cause pain to relieve pain, he bolstered up his resolve and grit, and pressed the pad to his injury. Withholding a scream as fibrous, stinging hairs made the rest of his arm itch, stabbing his injury with a white, burning knife, he keeled over with his hand to his body, letting out only a small grunt.

"Hatori?" It was Kana. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, yeah." Hatori looked back down at his quivering hand as it frothed with sterilizing white at the cut. "Shit." The pain faltered to a steady throb as he waited for the bleeding to cease, applying pressure through the cotton. Quite long after (his medication caused him to bleed more), he applied antibacterial and wrapped his hand up in bandages and gauze. He packed up his kit and shoved it back in his travel bag, and then opened the door to find the housekeeper dusting the pictures by the back door. "Uh, excuse me?" Hatori walked to him, holding his bandaged hand to his stomach when he reached out and tapped the man's shoulder. "Excuse me?"

The man turned to him, almost too robotically. "Yes?"

"Hi," Hatori said in careful Mongolian. "Did you see my—… Did you see Kana around here?"

"I'm sure Mrs. Altan went just around the corner," the housekeeper said in clear English, "to the living room."

Hatori nodded, a little relieved. "Okay. Thanks…?" The man stared at him. "Can I ask your name?"

"Yul, sir."

"Hatori. Nice to meet you, Yul." He held out his hand to the housekeeper, who took it and bowed. "Oh, geez. Okay. You really don't have to be so formal."

"Nonsense," Yul said, finally giving a slight smile that wrinkled his cheeks. "It's truly good to see Kara raised such a kind man."

Hatori smiled back and nodded. "Thank you." After a short moment, he asked, "So, you knew my mom?"

"I did, yes. Though while she was here, I was more of a helper to my father. He knew more about the twins than I do." Yul gripped his duster hard at the wooden handle. "All I know is that Kara and Erden loved it here, and the town adored them."

"Is that so? Can I ask you something?" The housekeeper nodded, simply, so Hatori went on in a hushed tone. "When I was in town yesterday, someone at the market mentioned that Mom and Erden ran away from here. I can't put my finger on it, but something's telling me not to talk to my grandparents about it."

"You're a perceptive man," replied Yul. "Perhaps too much so for your own good. I can't tell you anything other than how happy they were here. Mind you, the Nergüis were the picture-perfect family in this town. Textbook family, textbook comfortable house with white picket fences and cherry blossoms."

Hatori frowned slightly. _The bigger the fence, the more secrets it holds_. "So, they were just that, then? Perfect? Happy?"

"Like I said, Hatori. If you study every leaf in a tree, you'll never learn of its undivided beauty. Every family has its problems, but only one thing makes a family a family." The Dragon watched him closely, waiting for his next choice of words. "Everyone stays together."

"I understand." The words were true, but to what context? He knew enough about isolation and high fences, but also about unconditional love and support. Was Yul leaving clues in his words or was Hatori just being too perceptive, too suspicious again? "Thanks for telling me that." Yul's brown eyes slipped down to his wound-up hand—

"Hatori!" Naran called. "Are you all right, darling?"

"Yeah, sorry!" Hatori called back. "I'm coming!" To the housekeeper, who slowly turned back to the cabinet he was dusting, Hatori said, politely, "Sorry, I have to go. Maybe we can talk again soon." Yul simply bowed, indicating the conversation had found its silent closure. He made his way back to the kitchen, a bit more cautiously this time. Standing by the other side of the island, he said, "Emee, you called?"

"I did," Naran said, turning to him. She immediately looked to his hand and her expression turned dim with remorse and sympathy. "I'm so sorry about that, darling. I hope it's not deep."

"It's fine," Hatori said, disarming his suspicion with a short smile. "I'll live. What can I do for you?"

Naran thought for a moment, looking around her workstation, at the chives, beef, lettuce, carrots, and packaged noodles. "You can mince the vegetables for me. Can you handle that?"

"Mm-hm," Hatori said, slipping a latex glove over his afflicted hand as he approached the counter with the vegetables and cutting board.

Naran hummed with her usual smile and turned to finish chopping up the salad. "This dish is called _tsuivan_. Fried noodles and meat." Hatori hummed in attentive response. "Since you're family, I'll let you know my secret recipe."

"Lucky me," Hatori joked.

Naran chuckled, then whispered in a lighthearted manner. "I boil the noodles with peanut oil, a dash of sunflower oil, and finally, a small bit of curry powder. For a kick."

Hatori gathered the heads of cabbage, the limbs of carrots, and the vein-like chives to one side of the chopping board, and carefully plucked up the same cleaver that had assaulted him. "Easy, ma'am," he said, smiling as he worked, "dinner's not until later. Don't make me _too_ hungry."

Naran laughed a little. "You're too sweet, darling. But that's only the noodles. I didn't say what I do for the meat yet!"

"If you say the secret marinade is love, I'm packing up my stuff."

"There's always love in a mother's cooking, dear."

"Oh, my God…! I'm serious about leaving!"

"You tease! My goodness!" His grandmother hummed in the conclusion of her gentle laughter. "Actually, it was your uncle Erden's favorite mix. Garlic, sesame oil, curry sauce, bone and beef broth, a teaspoon of soy sauce, and ginger powder. Chives and turmeric powder. It may sound a little out-of-the-ordinary, but trust me, it's good."

Hatori put his hands up in defense. "Hey, I didn't say anything. I'm sure it's fantastic." Naran gave him a flattered smile as she washed some of the stacked-up dishes. And the cooking commenced with casual conversation and laughs and stories, Hatori's sliced hand completely forgotten, even as the chore made the slice throb.

##

"Sorry, the food's a little late," Hatori said, carrying in the main dish that curled in a hill of noodles and meat. "I tend to talk more than I should at the worst times."

"Nonsense! This looks like it was worth the wait!" Sheriff Xun exclaimed, seated at the other end of the table, Naran's usual spot, than Batuhan. Between them, their wives shoulder-to-shoulder; and the sheriff's daughter nearest to her father.

"You're right, dear," said Shan, the sheriff's wife. Hatori sat down after placing the dish in the middle of the table. "_You_, mister, should have the first serving."

Hatori chuckled. "Oh, no… I couldn't."

"You could, dear," Naran agreed, "and don't be afraid to take another three servings! Big boy sizes!"

"Thank you." Hatori laughed lightly at that, sitting on the other side of his grandfather, beside Kana and Yisu, by Xun. "But I'm hoping you're not expecting me to eat it _all_."

Shan laughed behind her hand, her long braid catching between her arm and breast. "Perhaps that would be a good idea!" She reached over and gently pet her daughter's hair that was the same shade of polished wood. "Does the big city provide food for its citizens? My goodness!"

"The big city is full of vultures and sex addicts!" Batuhan stated, causing his wife to send him a tight-lipped gaze. "What? We're all adults here! Hatori!"

Hatori nearly leapt from his skin at the boldness of his grandfather's voice. "Yes?"

"Am I wrong, boy?"

"Well…"

Batuhan stared at him in an odd way as he began to eat.

Hatori brushed it off with a short laugh, as habit permitted. But when the occupant silence failed to raise with any other sound than what he had made, he cleared his throat and gave an uncharacteristically sheltered, "No."

"Hm?"

"No, sir. You're…right. The city can be…vicious. Just…y'know, everyone's _so_ quick to judge and gossip." Hatori fidgeted with his thumbs under the table, averting his eyes as he added, "Got nothing _better_ to do…"

Kana waved her hand in dismissal of the conversation. "Why don't we just eat? I'm sure Hatori doesn't want to talk about the city while he's enjoying his time here."

Shan nudged her daughter, who had not yet spoken, to indicate she serve herself. The girl, who Hatori guessed was around her mid-teens, nodded and did as told. As she did so, Xun grunted something to her, and she switched her plate with his. "So," Xun said to Hatori, who had seen this, "were you raised in the city, too?"

"Yes, I was," Hatori said. "But my parents waited until I was older to let me go out to the main part of the city with them. I was around six when that happened."

"Really?"

"We're a very to-ourselves type of family."

The sheriff nodded, understandingly. "Smart people. I mean, they must have been to raise such a well-conditioned man. I heard you're a doctor."

"Yes, sir." Hatori glanced at the sheriff's daughter to see that she had served herself a much smaller portion of food—correctly so, in her parents' eyes. His eyebrows slowly drew down, but his attention was snatched back. "Following the family tradition, is all."

"Good. That's very honorable work."

"Thank you. Yours as well."

"God! You gotta love the kid's respect!" Xun praised in the form of a public announcement. "I guess Kara kept being a good girl in that urban jungle, after all!"

A small bit offended by this statement, Hatori's eyebrows scrunched down a little. "I'm sorry. I don't understand what that means." He could hear his parents scolding him for being too direct, too confrontational, even though _he_ knew he was being too lenient. It was not a question for clarity. It was almost a dare.

"The big city is a dish of sin and temptation, and every person who goes there voluntarily is bound to get bit quick," Xun explained, as if it were common knowledge.

Batuhan placed his vodka down with some force. "_Yes_! Exactly!" He glanced at Naran before setting his attention back on Xun, bypassing Hatori completely. "You know how many tears and how much _begging _we did, trying to keep our kids here? And for what?"

"For temptation to show its ugly rear and swipe your twins away."

Heat stung Hatori's face, but his expression remained hard-pressed and unexpressive. Another learned, necessary habit. He closed his eyes to calm his mind for a moment as they went on.

"Huh!"

"Your family has not left our prayers since, my friend."

"Thank you, Xun." Batuhan sighed, and Naran reached over and rubbed the flat of his hand with her thumb. "The world needs more good country folk. Kara needed to turn right back around at the county line and just come home."

Quickly, Naran turned to Hatori. "Not that you're not a blessing, dear." His violet eyes were razors—not that he meant to glare—when they swiped to meet hers. "We love you. You belong with us."

As if she had not spoken, Hatori turned his tamed fury toward his grandfather and the sheriff. "If I could interrupt…" All eyes turned on him, but he forced aside any doubt or Soma family training that tried to silence him. He bit back harsher, more stern words and said, carefully, "Mom was smart. She was tough, raising a stubborn kid while my father kept his practice going. She did a lot of right, and she did what she could to keep me and my father comfortable. As any capable mother does." The table fell silent. Kana and Yisu traded amused looks, nodding in approval. "I only wish she was still around so I could learn more from her."

Yisu met eyes with the sheriff with a small smirk. "Basically, he's saying to mind your own business." Clasping her hands together under her chin, she continued, "Good to know you don't take crap, li'l nephew."

Hatori said nothing more and looked down into his unfinished plate, unsure of what to do or say next, if anything at all. _You've said what you needed_, his father would advise, calmly. _Now just let your anger pass_. _I'm proud of you._ Or his mother's version: _You defended your family. Good boy. _He placed down his fork and took a swig of vodka straight.

"I hope the food's good," Naran said, breaking the awkwardness that thickened the air. She poured some more vodka around the table, and then some tea for the sheriff's daughter. "Hatori and I cooked together for the first time."

"It's spectacular, Naran," said Xun, taking a bite to prove as much.

Shan served their daughter another slice of meat along with a small heap of noodles, and whispered something into her ear. She smiled, after, and tucked some hair behind the child's ear. The daughter's expression never broke. Instead, she stared at her mother with doe-like eyes.

"Good thing you brought Hatori around." The sheriff continued on, even though all Hatori wanted in the world was for him to stick the beef where one could hear the ocean. "You two can whip up twice as much of this meat!"

Hatori muttered as subtly as he could manage, "That's what she said."

Shan nodded, serving herself last. "It's so tender!"

"—That's also what she said." Yisu, being the only one who heard the Dragon, snickered loudly, which only made him stifle his own laughter. Kana sent them both a grimace reserved for scolding young children who dug their hands in their food. Hatori, catching Kana's glare, ducked his head while Yisu simply shrugged it off and pursed her lips.

Naran bowed a bit in gratitude. "I did my marinade for the protein, and my beloved grandson minced and cooked up the vegetables and noodles." Behind her hand, she admitted, "I was feeling a little dizzy before we could finish. So, the end result is all Enkhtuya."

"Ah," Shan said, looking to said grandson, who smiled quickly before looking away, unsure if he should meet her eyes or stare at his plate, due to his outburst. Under her hand, she whispered to her fellow housewife, "He's a shy thing, isn't he?"

Naran squeezed her fingers only an inch apart and chuckled. "A little."

Three or so hours they sat at the table, chattering away, sharing stories, and all. Xun brazened by reliving an encounter with a certain delinquent who resisted arrest for driving with Jack's mustiness on his person, hints of sugar mixed in the cedarwood of his cologne. "He was a boy, but he came up to my height," he said. "But I still got a few more tricks in my old age. No match."

"Of course not, dear," said his wife, giving his bicep a supportive squeeze.

Batuhan sipped his tea. "Well, the old dog's gotta get his chomps in while he still can."

"We're the same age, _old_ dog!" Xun exclaimed.

After a few more minutes of conversation and playful teasing, Hatori's stomach started to churn. So, he stood simply and began gathering the plates and bowls from each table guest, excusing his invasion of their bodily space each time. Shan motioned for their seemingly mute daughter to assist him—which she automatically did and trailed him to the kitchen. Hatori, unbeknownst to her, had not noticed her taciturn presence and went along his way to the sink. He stacked the chinaware and utensils by the basin in haste and breathed through the queasiness in his 'privacy.' "Shit," he said in a huff, holding his stomach. Finally sensing another being, he looked over his shoulder and caught sight of the girl staring with a resigned set of eyes. "_Holy _shit." He dropped his head for a moment before politely facing her. "Sorry. I scare easily."

The girl plainly came to stand beside him, silverware in her hands.

Understanding, he started rinsing and soaping up each plate. "Thank you," he said, encouragingly, and took the utensils. Kisa's fits of silence trained him to adapt to silent cues and gestures, so he felt quite comfortable in this girl's demeanor. Probably more so than in the dining room. "Chimeg, right?"

She glanced up at him for a moment, to which to he smiled gently, before averting her forward gaze to the plate in his hand. She had to be around Momiji's height.

"Did you like the food?" He handed her the first, sudsed plate, and she nodded. "Well, good. Personally, I'm not much of a mushroom person, but Emee said they calm down the spiciness of the meat. Which also reminds me of the time back home—"

The girl looked at him slowly, letting the plate run under the steaming faucet.

Hatori looked at her, wondering if she wanted to say something. But she said nothing, and he chuckled nervously. "Uh… Sorry. I, uh… I tend to ramble sometimes—" The girl winced. Being accustomed to that sound in his field, Hatori glanced over his shoulder at the other room, and then back at her. "What's the matter?"

She chanced a look at him before averting again to the plate.

"Are you hurting anywhere?" He dried his hands, shutting off the water, in case he needed to handle her. Worst case scenario, he had to awkwardly carry her as to avoid triggering the Dragon spirit inside him. "Can you show me what's uncomfortable?"

"Leave," the girl said in a choked voice. "Now."

Hatori's smile slowly faltered as he stared at her, trying to comprehend her single phrase of the night. "Wh—… What?"

"_Leave_."

"Leave? Why would I—"

"Chimeg." Xun came to her side, taking her by the shoulder affectionately. "Honey, don't bother Hatori. He's very busy." He looked at the Dragon, who dressed his expression to one of pleasant oblivion. "I'm sorry. She's a little socially awkward."

"That's all right," Hatori said, "so am I."

The sheriff gave his daughter a warm smile and squeeze on the shoulder. "Dessert's up."

_Aversion_, Hatori thought.

"Shall we?"

Shan and Naran presented each able member of the party with a slice of butter cake and a glass of sparkling strawberry wine. The families conversed and complimented the food, sipping the wine—the men, with such rigor as to take in every drop each glass; the women, with meticulous samples from their one glass. Hatori, as if he was a mere spectator, limited himself to only two glasses, but remained quiet for the majority of the last course. In short glances he caught Chimeg peeking at him under her brow, shriveled under her father's arm.

In her sensitivities to alcohol, Naran told the story of Kara and Erden's birth with some graphic detail, but not so much that Shan had to cover Chimeg's ears. But as she spoke, as Batuhan and Xun laughed amongst themselves; and as Kana asked him something, Hatori could only comprehend the sound of her voice.

"I'm fine," he said out of instinct, his eyelids growing more and more heavy with every blink. He looked at his glass of wine to find that he had only had a little more than half of it, and the wine was light. Usually, another two glasses would do the trick. "I think I just need some water…" He attempted to lift himself from his seat. And he went down—he went all the way down to the panel floor, his head banging on the wood.

Just as the room darkened and his surrounding family became distant murmurs, he heard his grandfather tell Xun, "His medication makes him fragile to alcohol."

Lastly, just as he shut his eyes, Chimeg knelt to his side, pretending to hoist his head up by her hand. Beneath the adult chatter, she whispered, "I told you."

##

Hatori hurled again over the toilet, vomiting dinner into the bowl. Drenched in sweat, he held his head up by his hand, shutting his eyes, waiting for the next violent urge. Surprisingly, he had not transformed yet. Yet. His stomach did not particularly hurt or toss much, and he otherwise felt normal. Perhaps he was mildly allergic to something in the cake or the wine the sheriff's family brought. Despite this, his head swam in teetering lengths as if he had chugged the entire wine bottle himself. It had been nearly a decade since he was diagnosed and prescribed what he was; and about the same since he began drinking, so he was no stranger to his medication cooperating with alcoholic beverages. Maybe he was simply allergic to something in the wine. He only had strawberry once or twice before. This mental play-out of self-doctoring was interrupted by another tug at his throat, and he threw himself over the toilet bowl just in time.

"A little reckless there with the wine, huh?" Batuhan said from the doorframe, cross-armed. Hatori looked at him briefly and shrugged. "Yeah. Your grandmother's a little woozy, too. No worries. We'll build up your tolerance in time."

"No, I'm fine," Hatori insisted in a husky voice. "Something must have gone wrong with my meds. I'm fine, though. Thanks."

Batuhan nodded slowly, scratching his gray stubble in an absentminded manner. "All right. If you say so." Hatori let out another mouthful of vomit. "I left some water on the nightstand. Down it before you go to sleep."

"Thank you." Before long, he flushed the toilet and trudged back to bed. As told, he drank the water in cautious sips before collapsing sloppily on the mattress. Two messages—one from Shigure, the other from Kisa back home—and thirteen promotional emails greeted him when he unlocked his phone, but nothing out-of-the-ordinary or needing his immediate attention. So, he locked it back up and let his eyelids fall.

In the night, he was awakened by the hissing of a whisper behind him. Ever so slightly, he peeked over his shoulder to see Naran there, staring at him in the moonlight. He froze, unsure if he should say something or do anything. Dropping his eyes to her hands, he noticed the twins' matching teddy bears in her hold. Her murmuring continued on and on, and on and on for several minutes, so Hatori slowly rolled back over and watched the wall, waiting, anticipating something. In time, she set the bears down in their original places at the foot of the bed. Hatori had thought she had left, but when he nearly mustered enough courage to confirm this, she rubbed her thumb to his forehead, leaving behind something gritty and damp. She kissed his hair and hummed in what would be perceived as motherly before she left. Hatori, who had slammed his eyes shut when she came around to the other side of the bed, waited until he heard footsteps on the stairs to sit up. He touched his forehead and pulled his hand back to see blackness on his fingers. Easily smearing it across his palm, he deciphered it to be charcoal.


	4. Chapter 4 - The Higher Fence

**A/N:**Sorry it's been awhile. Been flooded with school and some other crap that's not important! But I'm back!

Thanks for sticking with this story for this long - I really appreciate it!

Without further ado... please R&R, but most importantly:

_Enjoy!_

**Chapter Four The Higher Fence **

The following week, Hatori was pouring over a copy of _Hard Times_ on the bench by the sunflower patch. Yakeshi had offered pleasant weather in terms of summer—back home around this time, he would either be cooped up in the house with the A/C blasting or at the beach with the rest of the family. But here, the sun beamed warm rays of gold that kissed his skin to a shade just passed its usual tone.

This morning had brought with it another oddity; just as he presented himself to the table for breakfast, his elders, save for Yisu, insisted quite tirelessly that he dress more appropriately from then on. Having been well-dressed since birth, Hatori was utterly confused—what harm was a pair of black pants and a jean shirt? Kana gifted him a new collection of shirts, from dress to casual, but all the same shade of purple, a hint lighter than the hue of his eyes. Exactly his size. Of course, he thanked her for such generosity and complied with their wishes out of respect. He had never been one to wear purple or lavender, or any shade of the color. But they were kind enough to allow him a roof and food. Upon first meeting, who could say that much about their distant blood?

Yet again, he _did_ miss his family.

Flipping the page, he looked up for no other reason than to spare his eyes from the print for a moment. Naran, who was hanging laundry on the clothesline, was already watching him as she shook out a bedsheet. He smiled politely at her. But she did not return the mannerism. Rather, she stared intently at him. Hatori's smile faltered slowly and his brows drew up in concern or nervousness, either would suffice for the off-ness that dragged his stomach. He dared not move or speak or break eye contact. He simply froze under her dauntless gaze. But before long, she whipped the sheet high; and when it came back down, she was smiling like usual at him.

With traces of his previous, put-off expression, Hatori smiled again and forced his eyes back down. _Maybe she wasn't even looking at me_, he thought, with full knowledge of his own habit of staring and spacing out at the worst times. After a while longer, remembering the aftermath of too much UV on his sensitive skin, he went inside the cooler house and went into his mother's room after removing his shoes.

The sound of an antique doorbell caught his attention, and he went immediately to his phone to find the missed-call notification icon on the lock screen. "Crap," he said, unlocking it to find the call was from Kureno. He pressed the phone icon and held the device to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Hey, li'l cousin."

There was a short, petulant sigh. "I wish you wouldn't call me that anymore."

Hatori chuckled, sitting on the bed. "Sorry I missed you before."

"It's not an issue. I was just studying."

"Good to hear you're finally taking school seriously."

"Are you mocking me?"

"A little," Hatori said, simply. "But I _am _relieved."

"You never truly believed in me."

"Hey, now. Who's paying for your tuition? Money's important, too." Hatori took the lingering quiet on the other end as a cue to draw back the lecture building in his throat. "I didn't call you to discuss that, though. How are you?"

"Good. Everyone here is well-taken care of," Kureno said, sounding quite proud of himself (even though Hatori knew it was Kyo, Tohru, and maybe Shigure here and there making sure everyone was in line and safe). "And yourself?"

"Good, good." A little anxious, Hatori moved to the desk, leaning his chin on his arms atop the surface. "It feels nice to have nothing to do. Family's nice."

Kureno hummed. "You sound on edge."

"Do I?"

"Yes."

Waiting for a moment, debating if he should even talk about it, if it was proper, Hatori hesitantly said, "I…I don't know. Sometimes, things get a little…weird. Like, last night. The sheriff's daughter—he's my grandfather's best friend—she told me to leave. She's around Hiro's age, or younger by a bit."

"She told you to leave? Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe she was trying to tell me to leave the room…?" Hatori said, scowling. "She doesn't talk much, it seems like. So, it could just be something harmless and I'm overthinking again."

"You have that tendency."

"Do you think that's the case?"

"It could be," Kureno said. "After your high school incident, you tend to let your anxiety get the better of you." Hatori raked his bangs from his face, listening to his cousin's voice that always seemed to hold a hint of bitterness when they spoke. "There's no reason why anyone would hurt you out there."

Hatori considered this, but he was experienced enough and observant enough to know the world's batch of crazies hid amongst normal common folk, even good country people. But he also knew his cousin was right about his anxieties and sensitivities. "Yeah. Okay—"

"I have to go now, Hatori. I'm very busy."

"Sure. Yeah. Talk to you later, Reno." Just as he finished his goodbye, the other line fell limp. Sighing, Hatori locked his phone and set it by the edge of the desk, gazing out the bay window. His everlasting sense of foreboding remained strong—Kureno's words offered no solace, only a mere poke at the unsettling emotions he already felt.

Not that the two had truly been able to support each other following middle school. From Hatori's earliest memories, his parents, Kureno's parents, and their shared aunts and uncles always tasked the Dragon with caring for his younger, blood cousins. Whether Ritsu was being picked on or Kureno's loose tongue got him into some stir, he had to be there to save and protect them. Even so much as fetching the two of them plates at the family gatherings, he _always_ cared for them as if they were his own brothers. Or children.

But in middle school, Hatori's growing confidence with his involvement in sports and academics, and Kureno's jealousy of it, forged a spear between the two. Come high school, with Hatori's gang-rape and the release of the locker room video—where the classmates who admired him now flung lotion-filled condoms at him while chanting derogatory insults—their relationship seemed futile. For a short time, Hatori swore he hated Kureno, since the latter _obviously_ despised him, for spreading the video across the school, unbeknownst to the Cock.

But in the end, as routine would permit, Hatori eventually saw it immature and unbecoming of himself to carry such cruel feelings towards his younger cousin, by motivation of his parents' words. Kureno could burn him alive with gasoline under his arm, claiming that someone else did it, and Hatori would run in the opposite direction to keep the flame far from him. Once upon a time, the Dragon asked himself how it all came to be this way and could find no other closure than to blame himself.

Shigure was the only person Kureno admired and even gave the benefit-of-the-doubt; and in all truth, Hatori was envious of the Dog in that way. Why couldn't he do that? What had Shigure done that made Kureno favor him over his own blood, who had always considered and defended him? Perhaps Shigure had done or said something that made up for some sin Hatori committed against Kureno in their childhood, something that the Cock had struggled silently to recover from. Was Kureno releasing the video some form of karmic distribution or declaration of _wergild_? Did Hatori truly deserve this treatment, and he was just pitying himself?

Suddenly, the Dragon desired a drink. A strong one that would merit a tomorrow of drunkenness. But he knew better. Resorting to a nap, something beneficial rather than self-destructive, he went to the bed and flopped on his face on the fluffy comforter, taking in the aroma of magnolia petals and sun-kissed wood, and the same Downey detergent he used back home. He let his eyes shut.

##

He must have slept for two hours. Now midday, he ventured through the house to the kitchen in search of something to drink when he stumbled upon a note on the foyer's long table, where mail racked up.

_Hatori,_

_Your great-aunt, aunt, and I are away at work for today and into the evening. Your grandmother is out seeing to a friend for a day in the town. So, until dinner, it's just you. Yul should be there around 1 or so – let him know his check is on the island in the kitchen. If you get hungry, there are leftovers in the fridge. Help yourself. Make sure to keep yourself out of the sun. Be a good boy, as usual_

_-Övöö_

Hatori put the note aside and went on about his way, retrieving a soda from the fridge. Without anyone in it, the house seemed, oddly, the more welcoming. He could hear the birds and foxes outside, the running water down the stream into the small pond in the backyard, and all other occupant sounds of nature. For the ease in the air he owed to the fresh countryside ambiance about the patterned curtains above bay windows and silk table skirt that hung low on the legs. It almost felt homey—until his cut seemed to scream bloody murder under the bandages of his hand. Wincing, he put the can down and began to unravel the wrappings to see how his body was fairing with such a wound. The higher the stack of woven cotton, the less the throb quaked his palm. The cut was wide, stretching from his wrist toward the space between his ring and pinky knuckles, and angry enough to restrict any movement of the smallest finger. He reached in the cabinet where aspirin and topical treatments were stacked, and found Neosporin to apply over the pink-red divide. Though the pressure was alleviated by cool air, he knew it was unwise to leave the laceration bare too soon, and he wrapped it back up after a few minutes.

He went back to his mother's room to check his phone…only a message from Kyo and another from Shigure. He responded to ease their (unadmitted) worries, apologizing for being two hours late, then he went to the center of the house again with his laptop and files to busy himself. But when he opened his laptop, rather than working, he pulled up the Google page and typed _charcoal uses in Mongolian culture_. The first search result was a Wikipedia link, but compared to the other results that vowed upon smoother skin or whiter teeth, it was his best bet. Skimming over the traditional culture and religion sections, his attention was grasped by 'customs and superstitions'—it was a ruse to fend off malicious spirits from children. Before bed, parents would paint their children's foreheads with charcoal to give off the image of some black-haired animal. With his suspicions now at half-rest, he closed the tab.

Deciding that a visit outside would ease his worries, he went towards the back of the house near the twin's room and tried the dingy handle to the glass door. When it did not give, he gave the wing another wiggle to no avail. "Huh," he said, unsure what to make of it. Between Naran's apparent alcoholism, Batuhan's inconsistent behavior, Kana's disapproving remarks, and Yisu's incestuous lust, 'odd' deemed a suitable term for the summer trip within days. Hatori knew his own habit of assuming every person, in their own way, had some ulterior motive against him—Kureno's 'thoughtful' words of 'concern'. So, trusting the insight of his younger cousin, he shoved any off-putting thoughts from his mind and returned to the foyer/living room in the center of the house. He then came to the front door and grasped the knob, finding it too to be stuck. "What the hell?"

"Shall I attend to the upstairs first?"

Hatori nearly leapt through the ceiling. Turning to see Yul standing behind him, bucket full of cleaning items in hand, he sighed heavily to calm his speeding heart. "Jesus," he said, breathlessly. "Sorry. I didn't hear you come in."

"I'm sorry to have startled you, Hatori."

"No, it's fine." Hatori rubbed his eyes. "How…did you get in? The doors are locked."

"Locked?"

"Yeah. Like from the inside. Weird, huh—"

"Shall I attend to the upstairs first?"

"Uh, sure. Yeah." Hatori rubbed his neck. "Oh, and your check's in the kitchen. On the island."

"Thank you," Yul replied with a short bow, and went on his way up the stairs.

Hatori went back to his laptop, answering emails from patients and their consultants, scanning over their files and such, making house calls to post-surgery recoveries. About an hour or so passed before he could comprehend anything he had just read, or researched. He concluded it must have been stress and overthinking. In his peripheral, he saw Yul go into the kitchen to retrieve said check, and only then did he notice the citrus spring breeze that danced about the house. The natural light spilling in bounced off polished side tables and casted rainbows off the stained glass on the door.

"All done," Yul announced, more like deadpanned. Hatori stood to see him off, but the housekeeper waved his hand. "Be sure to close the bay window in your mother's room before the bugs start coming out. I doubt you'd want to sleep with mosquitos in your hair."

Hatori chuckled. "All right. I'll do that. Thanks."

Yul's dull eyes squinted, hearing this, and he dipped his chin to the Dragon, who cocked an eyebrow in question. Rarely did Hatori, even in his situational awkwardness and fidgeting, genuinely feel threatened by another's gaze. After rebuilding himself from high school's crash-and-burn, a calm confidence surrounded him like a haze of incense upon a memorial, a specific quiet about him that commanded respect. But watching this man, holding his eyes, Hatori was unsure how to react. Was this how others viewed him, a dignified mass of withheld power? After such silence, Yul nodded. "I'll see you later, then, Hatori."

"Uh, yeah," Hatori replied, despite the unease in his gut. "See you later." He waited until the car engine echoed down the road to move from where he stood. Gathering his stuff, he made his way back to the room in which he slept, and set his files and laptop down on the desk. As told, he folded in the window's arms and locked them into place. Out of subconscious habit, he plucked up his phone to check for lingering messages or missed calls from his family at the hotel, or any of the family he had left back in Japan. Four messages—two from Shigure, one from Kyo, another from Tohru—and five calls from Tohru again, his aunt Emiko, his cousin Kenan, Kisa, and Nori, his nurse at Kuromiya Hospital. He answered them all in text, apologizing for missing them and saying he would catch up with them shortly, praying their reaching-out to him was not of urgent matters.

"Enkhtuya?" It was Naran.

Hatori set his phone down on the bed and— A dented corner of something caught his attention from under one of the decorative pillows. Squinting, he plucked up the pillow slowly to see a photograph, face down. When he righted it, he nearly dropped it. His family stared back; with Daisuke nearly burnt to the bone, Kara's seasonally tanned skin sparkling with water, and his pouting toddler face hidden by a sunhat, slightly sun-kissed like his mother. He sat on a pony with his parents on either side of him, his father grasping the bridle with one hand and stabilizing him with the other. Kara's subtle smile carved her cheeks to an angular shape, but her eyes remained stone, inflexible.

"Enkhtuya?"

"Coming," he called back, never taking his eyes off his parents. Everyone's parents forbade their children certain details in life, for better or worse. He learned that since he started nesting his younger cousins in his home, starting with Momiji. It was classic sheep-and-shepherd etiquette: protect and provide. But what was it that his parents—more specifically, his mother—wished to shield him from? Walking among the halls, he peered down at his wrapped hand, remembering the harsh sting that waited under the cotton wads. 'Erden, unfortunately, wasn't as lucky as his sister' replayed over and over in his head, complemented by Naran's oddly violent behavior in the kitchen the night of the dinner party. His grandfather, supposedly an esteemed practitioner of medicine, offered excuse after excuse for her outbursts; but realistically, what doctor would condone such unpredictability in a patient? What husband and father would justify it in his home?

"Hatori?"

Hatori startled from his mind as if his grandmother had yelled. "Sorry. Yes?"

"I was just asking," Naran said with a short chuckle, "if you wanted some cookies."

Hatori looked down at the tray in her hands, a single platter filled with stacked, promissory cookies. Peanut butter. Suspiciously, he lifted his eyes to her, unsure if it was simply coincidence that she had somehow baked his favorite flavor of the dessert. "I didn't know you baked today," he challenged, respectfully.

Naran hummed, simply shrugging. "I'm a spontaneous person."

"I could have sworn you just got home minutes ago."

"Don't fret, darling." She offered the platter again, smiling. "Perhaps I made them yesterday after you all went to bed. Again, spontaneous." Hatori stared at her, holding his wounded hand to his stomach out of instinct. With the full knowledge that baking merited a sugary aroma about the space, he knew therein existed some half-truth, if at all. "Go on. Don't be shy."

Hatori's eyes flicked between her honeyed expression and the unnaturally warm cookies. The throb in his hand thudded against the bandage. The festering silence between him and her roared viciously in his head, prompting unrest and uncertainty. His grandmother nodded in encouragement and plucked up the cookie on the peak of the stack to influence his decision. Hatori slowly reached for it, though every fiber of him screamed otherwise. Right as his finger approached it, he purposefully jerked himself forward in a trip. Thus, his clumsy hand smacked against Naran's, sending the cookie flying to the panel floor. It broke in half, in half of halves. "Oh, my God! I'm so sorry!" Hatori rambled, taking note of the consternation on his grandmother's face. She only gave a wordless, weakened grin without meeting his eyes. "I don't feel so good," he excused. "I'm gonna lie down. In bed." Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and stalked from the room, turning the hall and shutting the door behind him.

Finally, he breathed.

He remained by the door, urging it closed with his back, for a long amount of time. Catching his breath, trying to process if what just happened actually did just happen. He knew his tendency of overthinking had not disturbed his judgment this time. He knew Naran had only walked into the house. And he knew whatever she had baked for him was not made here. They were still warm. Fresh. But with what?

Had he not just seen her, he would have suspected he was still alone in the house. Since he retreated, there had not been a single sound on the other side of the door. He listened, listened for her. He figured she sat down at the table. Maybe her mind was still a bit too jumbled from the wine last night. He knew Batuhan disallowed her from driving much, but still… With no intent on leaving his own space, least not until the others returned, Hatori sat down on the bed and stared into blank space to collect himself. After such time, he opened his laptop to Google and searched for the nearest library. It would be closing in a matter of minutes. As to not rise any suspicion, he decided that tomorrow would be the wisest time to venture out.


	5. Chapter 5 - The Nameless

**A/N:**_Hey, guys - sorry it's been so long since I last published. Quarantine, y'know: lack of motivation, soul-crushing boredom, a newly-developed habit of gorging everything in the fridge instead of working on my stories... Y'know. _

_Hope everyone is safe out there; we'll get through this shit eventually. _

_Thanks again to all my readers - your support and time is _much _appreciated, and comments (not flames) are welcome. Feel free to leave a review!_

_And off we go..._

**Chapter Five The Nameless**

Xilamuren's grasslands.

By the yellow print at the bottom corner of the picture, Hatori had to have been about a year old with not a single ounce of awareness about him. Daisuke and Kara, to his confusion and discontent, never mentioned the trip. The more he carved at his mind, the less he could recall his parents even speaking of Mongolia, aside from his shared ethnicity with his mother. No one wished to discuss it—or maybe everyone knew not to. Inside him now existed a harsher, less quenchable curiosity that not even a simple explanation could satisfy. This routine off-ness he thought to be awkward unfamiliarity of the Nergüi's customs now manifested into undeniable suspicion. If his parents denied him the knowledge of his Mongolian roots, there must have been a reasonable excuse.

But he pushed that thought aside when he happened to catch his family in town. Shigure insisted he spend the day with them, or at least a meal and an hour or so at the shopping plaza. Of course, with a glance from Kyo, a smile from Tohru, and Hiro, surprisingly, eagerly rushing into his arms, Hatori could not refuse. He _had_ missed them, after all. Terribly. He had not realized the lightness in the air until that moment, until he laughed with them all. He did not even care about Kureno's passive-aggression, sideways glances, and _hmph_'s at his excuses as to why he could not spend time with them until now.

Shigure had asked when they would be introduced to the Nergüi house, especially after such a long trek from home. Hatori's answer: _They're a reserved bunch_ or _I know you're right, but I think there's something I'd like to ask them before we even consider that_. By the unwavering tone of his voice, the rest of the Soma-Honda group knew it best not to argue with him. Hatori always had his reasons.

Moreover, upon his return to the house that evening, he found himself at the mercy of a neurotic Naran's palm to his cheek. Batuhan had restrained her soon after the blow was dealt, urging her to calm down. Hatori, familiar with such treatment, simply brought his hand to the heat of his face. Her words were what brought him pause. "Why would you scare your mother like that?!" She repeated this twice. "Do you know how worried I was?!" He could only stare at her, motionless, as she shifted from "Kara" to "Erden," reaching out for him, desperately. Kana had given him ice afterwards and reasoned that her sister's medication did not mix well with her emotional state. Hatori had said nothing.

Days had passed in near-silence without a single offer from the Nergüis to meet with the Soma-Honda group. Hatori had not left the house in the last 120 hours, had barely left his mother's room in the previous 48 hours. The dual purple wallpaper and two vases housing a pair of sunflowers were his only company for the majority of the days. It appeared he had misplaced his SIM card as well as his backup storage of medication. Luckily, the latter of his missing holdings involved medicine that could be stopped cold turkey. So, without a means of (private) contact with his family and a heightened sense of existential pain from a low-grade flare, he merely laid in bed, reading here, sleeping there, and only came out for meals or the bathroom. Batuhan had given him some medication in an unlabeled bottle, but he could not bring himself to take it.

Now Hatori begrudgingly threw his legs over the side of the bed, wincing as gravity tugged at his tender hipbones and knees. When he sat upright, the muscles in his back groaned in waking, forcing his shoulders to rise in a brace for accompanied pain. Exhausted before he even thought to stand, Hatori sighed and rubbed his neck, shutting his eyes against the setting sun's rays. Orange bounced around on the purples and smacked him almost as hard as his grandmother had. "Jesus," he muttered. "Perfect timing for this nonsense."

"You must be hungry."

"_Jesus_!" Hatori, against his body's liking, shot up and backed well against the nearest wall, bumping into the nightstand. Batuhan put his hands up to ease him. "You scared me," he said, sitting painfully on the side table.

"I'm sorry," his grandfather said. "Didn't mean to frighten you, especially when you're so uncomfortable." The elderly man turned to reveal a tray of steaming food and tea on the coffee table just by the small TV (which carried only two channels, both educational and cartoony). "Figured you wanted dinner."

"Oh," Hatori said, hiding his suspicion behind a tone of gratitude. He sluggishly wobbled his way back to the bed and sat down with a short wince. "Thank you. I don't mind walking to the dining room. I'd hate to be so far away from everyone else."

"No, no…"

"It's no trouble."

"Actually, son," Batuhan rebuffed, looking him straight in the eye. "I've been talking with your grandmother about your recent behavior."

"My what?"

"—It's been settled that you are confined to your room for now."

"I'm…sorry?" Hatori squinted, caught between believing he had heard his grandfather wrong and almost daring him to repeat himself. "I don't underst—"

"You are not to leave this room until we feel we can trust you again."

"Trust me…?" Hatori scowled slightly in confusion, trying to rationalize what just came out of Batuhan's mouth. "Övöö, I may be staying here, but I'm not your child—"

"_Quiet_!" Hatori jumped with a startle, thinking of nothing else to say at his suddenly harsh grandfather. "You broke our trust, and now you pay the price. You're staying in here until we say you can use the rest of the house." His immediate reaction pried at him—resist, argue, _reason_ with him—but something his father had taught him included keeping his temper at bay and listening to his opposer, even if said opposer was a less-than-desirable debater.

Additionally, the Nergüis were kind enough to allow Hatori a place to stay, free of charge, food to eat, and even clothes to wear. Once he had mentioned his lineage, they were open arms. Few could say the same. Perhaps, he owed it to them to at least follow their house rules. They knew the border city more than he did; the forests must be dangerous in some parts; the lake might contain some harmful bacteria or creatures that he knew nothing of. Perhaps…_he_ was the odd, naïve one.

Batuhan raised his eyebrows. "Clear?"

In his condition, Hatori knew he was not going anywhere soon. So, he cleared the displeasure from his narrowed brow, swallowing his pride. "Clear." As if to prove compliance, he sat back down on the bed. Batuhan came over with the tray and set it beside him. "Thank you," the Dragon said, lowly. He averted his eyes to the right, where the candle in the bathroom flickered against the darkness, away from his grandfather.

Batuhan hummed in response. He set out the dishes, served Hatori's food, and poured his tea. "It's just leftovers from the other night. Figured you would want something simple."

Hatori nodded slowly, keeping his eyes away as to hide the discomfort, irritation, and utter confusion that frayed his mind.

"Hey." He chanced a glance at his grandfather, who gave a little grin and placed a heavy hand on his head. "You're still a good boy."

Choosing not to respond to that same damn phrase, Hatori plucked up the fork and started sawing at the chicken breast, focusing on that and only that.

"Good. Need plenty of nourishment. I'll come by for the dishes later."

Then, Hatori was alone again. He could only stomach half of what he was given, and instead decided to take a bath. Most days, he wished to shower again, much to his grandparents' refusal to compromise (he knew not why). But today, in all his swelling and tenderness, a soak sounded heavenly.

In the passing time, Hatori found himself willing his eyes open in a lukewarm tub of misty water from the soap. He sighed and forced himself up and out, unexcited for the fifteen-foot distance to the bed. But when he passed the mirror, he paused at the sight of his slightly bruised cheekbone among the flushed tint to his skin. "Shit," he muttered, inspecting it. Catching notice of his slow-to-heal hand that he now habitually held to his stomach, he took note of how he appeared as a whole and found himself scowling. Bruised, exhausted, injured, and a small bit underweight, as noted by Shigure and Tohru. Forced half the time to wear shades of purple after his clothes seemed to disappear in fragments at a time. Who was this person? Who did the Nergüis carve him into?

"Hatori?"

As usual, Hatori jumped in a start and let out a sigh. "Yes?" he called out, heading back toward the main part of the twins' room. He sat on the bed, drying his hair with the towel in slow movements. "Come in."

Yul stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him.

"You're here?" Nod. "I didn't know you cleaned this late."

"I was just picking up my check," Yul said, simply. He came to the left side of the room and sat at the bay window. "Figured I'd say hi."

Hatori simply waved a hand. "Well, hello again. Wait." He faced the housekeeper, scowling a little in thought. "Was that…? It was you, wasn't it? The picture?" Yul shrugged. "How did you get that? You said you've been cleaning for the family for years, so you know about what happened to my parents here, right?"

"Slow down before you hurt yourself," Yul said. "Yes. Your parents came here. With you."

Hatori squinted, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. "Why? Just to visit?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Okay, well, what happened? I mean," Hatori pressed, allowing himself to slouch, "they never mentioned any of this, any of _you_ to me." Disarray and mistreatment instantly invaded his thoughts, but he knew they had to have been remnants of his own childhood spitting back at him. Surely there had to have been something different than the Soma experience here. Surely his mother had had her reasons, ones that his father empathized with.

But when he tried to empathize with Kara the way his father always knew how to, he could only find himself missing her, then resenting her for trying to reshape him, by forcing the piano on him, as if he were her new Erden.

Hatori shuddered. Her new Erden. _Their _new Erden. Or Kara. Or both.

"I haven't seen you around the house lately," Yul noted, prompting the Dragon to mask his baffled expression with an attentive stare. "Sick? I noticed you burn easily, despite having Kara's summer skin."

"Yeah… I, uh… My lupus again. Plus, now I'm de-facto grounded," Hatori admitted, feeling as if he were back in high school. "Guess they're the overly-protective-to-all-hell type. No matter how old you are." _No wonder Mom left_, he thought. _If they have the nerve to 'ground' a twenty-five-year-old, I can only imagine how much worse it was for Mom and Erden growing up_.

Yul, for the first time since they had met, broke into a short smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to laugh at you."

"If I didn't get yelled at like a damn child, I'd laugh along with you."

"So how long?"

"Övöö didn't say. But to spare my joints, I guess it's better this way. Not like I'm going to move around anytime soon."

"So, you're content with this?"

"Well, no."

"Then, you should leave."

Hatori looked back at him for a long, considering moment before studying the lines in his swollen hand. "Normally, yes. That would make sense. But," he said with a sigh, "they've been nice enough to let me stay here and feed me, and—"

"I get it. Obligation." Yul frowned as Hatori nodded without giving a single glance. "Speaking of nice, that's a nice cut you got there. Your hand."

Natural response further prompted the Dragon to hide his airing-out wound under the damp towel. "I snuck up on Emee. She just happened to have a knife in her hand. Cooking."

"Ouch. I hope it's not too deep."

"It's fine." Hatori, in all honesty, could not comprehend his own reasoning for saying that. What sane person accepted being sliced at and struck across the face without much more thought? Soma housetraining, he deduced. "I cleaned it. It'd be terribly ironic for a doctor to let his own wound get infected."

Yul chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Otherwise, you're enjoying your time here?"

"Uh, yeah." Hatori met his eyes finally. "Yeah, it's real nice here. Everyone's nice." It would have been better with the company of Shigure, Kyo, Tohru, Hiro, Ayame, and Kureno. But they were back at the cottage hotel. He was here. "But if I can be honest, I could do without the constant staring in town. Am I really that weird-looking?"

The housekeeper shook his head.

"Then I must _really _look like my mom, or this Erden I'm hearing about."

"Sorry to tell you, but yeah. It's subtle."

"My looks come from my dad."

"The way you carry yourself and speak, mostly." Yul pushed himself off the wall, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Don't mind the townsfolk. Out here in the country, no one has much else to do but gossip and chatter." Hatori nodded slowly in understanding. "Now, back to your parents. They came here with you, obviously. Traveled the grasslands and visited some temples, too." The housekeeper sighed, breaking eye contact with the Dragon for a moment. "Kara…thought it might be smart to make amends with her parents. It had been years since she'd ran away."

"That might have been Dad talking…" Hatori thought aloud. "Did she go back for Erden, too?"

"Perhaps. I'm not sure." Yul raked his hair from his forehead. "But they never came to the house. I happened to be about the town when they arrived. Went to one of the little cafés right by the welcome sign." He chuckled to himself, but it only came out a little misfortunate. "Guess Kara didn't want word to spread before she got here."

Hatori sighed, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the weight of his head. "Sounds like Mom. Always making sure to have a way out until the absolute last minute." A learned habit. In all the family outings, the Dragon always nestled an escape plan in the vault of his mind as a means of protecting his family and himself. If Kisa needed out of a sleepover that miraculously involved drugs, he would fake a family emergency. Or if he grew restless at some high-end social gathering, he would feign a surprise flare-up, blaming it on the food or the alcohol, or whatever else. "I'd do the same, I think. And the picture…?"

"Oh, that," Yul said. "From Kara. The twins and I used to play as children. She trusted that I would not leak it to her parents, or Turgen and Chief Xun, for that matter. And I didn't. She introduced me to your father, as well. And you."

"I had no idea," Hatori said. "Then what?"

"Then…they left," Yul said, sounding puzzled. "Didn't go to the house. Within hours after I met you all, your parents were high-tailing it out of here." He chuckled at the unsheltered bemusement apparent in Hatori's exhaustive expression. "If I had to guess, they ran into someone Kara _didn't_ plan to see. Maybe an ex or ex-friend."

Hatori asked, "If we could go back to the police chief… His daughter told me to leave. She said, 'leave now,' and then her father came in. She didn't say much the entire night besides that."

Glancing out the window, Yul deadpanned, "Chimeg's always been a little…awkward. She's a clumsy, but cautious little thing."

"Oh."

"But she's a nice girl. Means well. She's sharp, too. Very sharp."

"Is…she all right at home?"

"As far as I know, yes."

Hatori hummed in response, thinking of nothing else to say. The clock read 8:34, and though he knew Yul must have a family to return to, he wished to stay in the presence of the only sane person in Yakeshi. But his conscience would not allow him to trail another person along into whatever lifestyle the Nergüis led. Aside from the chief's family, Turgen, and Yul himself, the Dragon had not noticed any other 'outsider' around the property. He looked down at his wounded hand, suddenly re-acknowledging the heat of his cheek. "Thanks for telling me all this." He raked his bangs out of his face. "Things have been a little weird here, but I'm relieved to have someone to speak casually to. I lost my SIM card, so I can't really talk to my family. Least not on my phone."

"Maybe you'll find it when you're feeling better." Yul stalked over to the door, slowly. "If I were you, I'd start with the piano room. Things always end up there for some reason." He opened the door, holding the spine as he spoke. "Oh, and I hope you get un-grounded soon."

"So, you _do _have a sense of humor," Hatori joked, cracking a smile for the first time in days. "I just hope everything is smooth sailing until I'm up and out of here."

"That'd be nice." Yul gave a parting wave. "See you."

"See you later." Again, there he remained in the still room, alone, his only company the two matching stuffed bears on the foot of the bed. Their beady eyes fixated on him as if there was nothing else occurring in the world. Hatori averted his attention to the view of the forest from the bay window, finding entertainment in watching the leaves and spikes of the trees shift in the wind.

_Tap_.

Hatori nearly leapt, something that seemed to be routine these days. He stared at the corner of the window, where the sound had erupted. Squinting, he dragged his unwilling legs to crawl over the width of the bed to said window, and peeked around to the yard, at the laundry lines and sunflower patches. Nothing. "Huh," he said.

_Tap, tap, tap_.

He looked toward the door that led to the hallway, where the noise seemed to have scurried. Deciding that speaking or asking if it were his grandparents or great-aunt or aunt was unwise, he remained silent and lurched himself into the corner of the walls, waiting, expecting. He absentmindedly snatched a pen from the twins' desk and hid it behind his back, ignoring the scream of the cut on his palm. And he waited. And waited. For two more minutes, he stood there with his unwavering attention on the door, waiting for it to open. Nothing came, so he approached it slowly. He reached out and grabbed the knob, gingerly.

Locked.

"Yul?" he called to the other side, knocking twice on the face of the door. "Yul?" A short burst of panic prompted him to jerk the knob a bit more forcefully than before, earning a sharp sting to strike through his afflicted palm. Wincing was all he allowed to escape his throat as he held his hand carefully. In a mix of frustration and desperation, he kicked the door with more strength than his lupus-heavy body should allow. The wood dented, but remained sturdy. Hatori, now suffering the backfire of his actions in the form of bodily agony, slid down to sit with his back pressed to the door, staring at the ceiling. "What the fuck," he whispered, shutting his eyes. With more questions than answers, a common theme of this damn visit-turned-whatever-the-hell, he sighed heavily through his nostrils and let his mind wander…

He dreamt of nothing in particular. Nothing of significance, for the most part. But in the darkness of his dreamless-ness, there remained only a voice. His mother's, repeating over and over again: _Why can't you just be a good boy?!_ Yelling it, shrieking it in front of the other Soma parents. He must have been twelve when it happened, when his mother said that—like the other handful of unfortunate Zodiacs whose parents also pointed at them for Akito's recent self-destructive tantrum. But he, unlucky enough to be the family physician's child, had to be the most organized, the most giving, the most compliant to the Head. Kara had him cornered, screaming accusations and delusions at him over his father's shouts for her to stop. Daisuke had her by the shoulders in minutes, but for Hatori, it seemed to have been hours. He darted from the room under the mutterings of the other parents and stares from the younger Zodiac and his best friends, with his mother's words propelling into his back no matter where he went.

_Why can't you just be a good boy?! _

_This would never have happened if you'd just behave!_

_Only obedient children can be here!_

_Why can't you just be perfect?!_

He was awakened by a sharp thud on the other side of the door. Waiting to see if it had been his imagination, Hatori remained seated there for a moment. Another harsh thud that jerked his entire body, so he stood defensively. His grandfather came in, Naran right behind him with a tray of food. "Hi, darling," she said, cheerfully as ever. "Thought you might be hungry."

"No," Hatori said, directly. "I actually am thinking that I should be getting back to my family."

"Oh, baby," Naran disregarded with a smile better suited for watching a toddler waddle about. "We _are_ your family."

"I meant _my _family. The family that lives with me, back in Japan."

"I don't understand—"

"I want to leave."

"Stop right there," Batuhan interjected, strictly. Naran stared down into the tray, backing away from the two. The elder man stood over Hatori, holding his eyes the entire time. Hatori was never one to size up against people, even threats—but he squinted his eyes to show that his grandfather's stature did not sway his determination. "This is your home, whether you like it or not. You need to understand that."

Receiving his grandfather's glare and returning with his own, unflinching one—one he rarely subjected anyone to—Hatori warned in a low tone, "I want to leave."

Batuhan squinted, taking note of this, and gestured to the tray his wife held. "Eat your food so I can give you painkillers." In a more approachable tone, he added, "I can't imagine the pain you're in right now."

"Oh, my God," Hatori said to himself, taken aback. His grandparents both turned back to him, slowly, as if he had cursed the entire family lineage. They traded looks only once. "Oh, my _God_. You're psychopaths."

"Don't be so dramatic," his grandfather said, dismissively with a smile and a wave. "You must be starving to the point you're getting nervous." He gestured for Naran to return to his side, who came rather quickly and offered the tray again. "Why don't we try this again?"

"Here," Naran insisted, extending a hand to her grandson. Hatori stepped back a little. She set the tray down on the nightstand, lifting the top off the steaming bowl, and blew lightly into the heat. "I used the leftover noodles from the other night and made some udon for you." Her voice wobbled, gurgling.

Hatori looked at the bowl, then her, then the bowl again.

"Miso-flavored. Yummy, right?" She turned to him with her usual wide smile, finding his face had twisted into something of oblivion and horror. "Oh, darling. What's the matter? Does your tummy hurt?"

"What? No." Hatori gripped his hair at the roots, rubbing his palms to his eyes. He let his arms slap at his sides, saying nothing for a few beats. "You're not hearing me. I don't _want _to be here any longer. I have a family."

"We are family—"

"_No_!" An eerie quiet passed between the three, with Hatori glancing between his grandparents. The more he studied the sag of Naran's lips, tugging at the fading scar on her hairline, the more he wished to whisk his anger-filled words away. "I…"

_Why can't you just be a good boy?!_

Hatori scowled, reminding himself that his mother must have known him more than he had thought. She knew what was best for him, she knew his disrespectful temper, and she knew how to curb his prideful selfishness. "I'm sorry," he resigned, bowing to his shocked grandparents. "What I meant to say was, I appreciate your kindness."

"Oh, good!" Naran cheered, turning to her husband for approval. "Then how about we—"

"—_But_ I do wish to return to my own family now." That same eerie, foreboding silence encapsulated the room again. But Hatori knew he had to say it. His gut could not stand this house, these people, or this country anymore. "I miss them, and we should be headed back to Japan now."

Batuhan hummed, flicking his brows up. "That's unfortunate. We thought you liked it here."

"I do," Hatori said, quickly. "You're all very…welcoming, and I thank you for being so open with me." Right then, his injured palm bit, his head swooned, and his stomach churned. The off-ness clutched at his shoulders, squeezed them until they cramped. He coughed. "But I have to get back to my family."

"You're worrying too much, dear," Naran explained, sitting on the bed. She patted the space beside her for him to sit. Beckoning him to. Watching her the entire time, Hatori did so. She smiled. Creases rose beside her lips the same as his mother's, whenever she smiled. But Naran's was more…inviting. More tempting. Motherlike. She gripped his hand in hers, squeezing. "Darling, we know you miss your family. We know this is hard for you to be in a house full of like-strangers." She chuckled. "But what your grandfather and I are trying to say is that…we're here for you."

Hatori, trying to process, squinted at her.

She laughed this time. "We might have gotten a little excited about you being here with us—I think we can _all _agree on that!"

"We're not trying to scare you off," Batuhan said, calmly. "You're part of this family. And we did and said what we did because we know this area. It can be dangerous for a city boy. That's why we're trying to leash you when the sun goes down, and why it's important we can trust that you'll trust us."

"Oh…" Hatori said, slowly. He frowned to himself, continuing to run the explanations through his safe-guarded mind. "I'm…" He looked up at both of them. "I'm _so_ sorry. Really. I misunderstood, completely. I—"

"Who wouldn't?" Naran replied.

Batuhan added, "Any sane person would suspect a situation like this to be a little odd." With better confidence, he gestured to the room. "But we cleared the air, everyone's in alignment and agreement, and now it's over."

Hatori shook his head. "Yeah. Of course."

"Your grandmother and I just want to make sure our Kara's baby boy is safe." Batuhan smiled affectionately at the Dragon.

"Our grandson."

"That's the only reason why we told you to stay here today. You've heard the horror stories about visitors in foreign land."

"Of course. I'm sorry I yelled at you," Hatori said, bowing his head slightly. "That was really out-of-line. I promise it won't happen again."

Naran squeezed his hand again. "Don't fret, dear."

"Misunderstandings happen," Batuhan comforted, placing a weighty hand on his grandson's head and moving it about his hair. The gesture reminded Hatori of his deceased father—Daisuke always did that at the end of each night. "But what makes a family a family is that everyone stays together. No matter what. Through it all."

Hatori nodded, guiltily. His face flushed. "Okay."

Everything his grandparents said made perfect sense.

He was wrong.


End file.
